


Any Grand Romantic Gesture

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-10
Updated: 2009-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recasting/adaptation of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0095304/">High Spirits</a>. In a last-ditch effort to save his family hotel, Pete tries to create the ultimate tourist experience: Castle Wentz, the world's most haunted place. However, the visitors to Castle Wentz include Gerard, the parapsychologist trying to save the spirit world, and Gabe and Travis, who are just trying not to fall apart.</p><p>The other problem is that the real ghosts keep showing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Grand Romantic Gesture

Pete's great-great-grandfather cemented his reputation as an eccentric by building the castle in 1840. Even back then, a huge rambling replica of a fifteenth century European medieval castle, complete with a moat flowing into the lake, being erected in a far-off Chicago suburb raised some eyebrows. Of course, some forty-five years later, Robert Givens built his own castle out in Beverley, and Great-Great-Grandpa didn't seem quite so odd then.

Great-Great-Grandpa Wentz made up for being slightly insane by being both very rich and exceedingly generous, and for more than a hundred and fifty years, Castle Wentz was home to generations of the family as well as any vagabond or stray that needed a place to sleep. In the seventies, Pete's father turned the castle into a hotel, and when he and Pete's mom retired and went off to D.C., Pete stopped gallivanting around the world and became the new manager.

Times weren't what they used to be. Despite Pete's best efforts, the staff dwindled to a core group who traded off on the day-to-day running of the place. Patrick was technically supposed to be handling the administrative work but really spent most of his time making sure Pete didn't lose his mind. Ashlee had come to Chicago to try to find some excitement, away from her crushingly close Texas family; she stumbled into the hotel one night and then never left. Joe had known Pete since he was practically a baby, and Andy had met up with Pete during Pete's otherwise ill-advised and short-lived flirtation with anarchist evangelism. It wasn't nearly enough people to keep everything running smoothly, but they just didn't have the money.

It wasn't really Pete's fault that Castle Wentz wasn't doing well. Once guests got past the atmosphere of the place — the hundreds of rooms with their ornate beds and portraits of family and friends lining the stone walls, the huge formal dining room, the charmingly cramped bar area — they realized that the beds were dusty and uncomfortable, the walls prone to dampness and mold, that the ceiling leaked when it rained and the windows clattered when there was anything more than a breeze. It was too much for people used to cheerfully impersonal Holiday Inns and Hiltons to withstand. If there had been more revenue, Pete could have had things fixed up, but because there wasn't, he couldn't, and the bills kept coming.

Which is why Pete is stuck in the office, on the phone with the asshole from the mortgage company _again_. He's pretty sure that Ashlee and Joe are listening in on the extension, but whatever, they deserve to know what's going on, too.

" _Oh,_ " Pete says into the receiver. "I guess you're calling about the mortgage? Yeah, I mean, I don't know what to say. Blame the postal strike. No, I mean it. Postal strike. Of course, everything's great –" A chunk of the ceiling falls onto the floor, and he coughs to cover the sound. "You know, calling me names isn't really going to make it get there any faster."

"Um, Pete?" Patrick's voice drifts down from upstairs.

"Sorry, on the phone!" Pete says. A small yellow card drifts down from upstairs, hanging on a piece of kitchen twine. Pete can just make out Patrick's lopsided scrawl — _You need to stop it with the postal strike thing._ Pete tears the card off and crumples it in his hand.

"Mr. White, I have the check right here –" He points the crumpled note card at the wall. "What do you mean, don't send it? Um, what? You're going to foreclose on my fuckin' house, the one that's been in my family for years, and auction it off to some developer? They're going to _level_ it? Jesus Christ, how many parking spaces do people need?"

There's a clatter somewhere, which is probably Ashlee dropping the phone receiver. There's a muffled "fuck" that sounds a lot like Joe. Pete clears his throat again.

Two little shadowy heads appear outside the office door. After a minute, a third one comes along; looks like Andy.

"What, you think that I'm just going to stand aside and watch you fuckin' destroy our fucking _home_? I will not watch my language. No, I — I'm not five years old. I don't — if I don't send you the money in three weeks, you're going to take the hotel. I said it, didn't I? You are killing me. You're actually killing me. Yeah, I guess you wouldn't. Goodbye." He hangs up.

His office is crammed packed with bills, letters, piling up on top of him. "Fuck."

Patrick comes down the stairs. "Uh, Pete?"

"Good, you're here," Pete says. "I need you to get a gun and shoot me for the insurance money. Wipe the prints off the handle, you'll get off scot free."

"For the last time, _no_ ," Patrick says. "Okay, we haven't had any guests for a while, but just because –"

"Stop stalling. Gun."

"Jesus, Pete, you never used to be like this. Greta's been on my ass all week –"

"Patrick, that girl _died_ back in the twenties."

"She's tearing her hair out and –"

Pete pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "She's also dead!"

"And she's _pissed_." Patrick sits down heavily in Pete's abandoned chair.

Patrick has this thing where he sees dead people, or claims he does. He doesn't make a big deal of it. It's like he thinks that it's normal to see things that aren't there. Usually Pete thinks this is adorable, but he's feeling pretty shitty right now. "Goddamnit, Patrick."

"We can't just give up," Patrick says. "There's got to be something we can do."

"We've tried _everything_!" Pete says. "Everything! The only way out is for you to —"

"I'm not doing it, so don't even try," Patrick says. "If you want me to help you, you're going to have to stop freaking out first."

"Fuckin' fine. I apologize to the –" He makes air quotes with his fingers. "''Ghosts' for fucking it all up and ruining everybody's lives, okay, and –" Pete stops. _Ghosts. Ghosts. Oh, my God._ "Patrick."

"What?"

"You are a goddamn genius." Pete grabs Patrick's hands and plants a wet smacking kiss on the tip of his nose. "I don't deserve you."

Patrick squirms and turns pink. "Quit it — what are you thinking of?"

"The only thing we haven't tried yet. Ghosts, Rickster. _Ghosts._ It'll be Halloween soon, and we'll have the best fucking tourist attraction in the city."

"You're turning the place into a theme park? Pete –"

" _Ghosts!_ " Pete looks around the office, sees the shadows of Joe and Ashlee and Andy through the clouded glass. "Trohman! Ash! Take this down!" He charges out of the office.

"What?" Joe says. They're all huddled around like little worried ducklings. Andy's got his arms crossed and Joe is wringing his hands and Ashlee's eyes are huge and slightly teary.

"This!" Pete races into the lobby, shouting over his shoulder. "Castle Wentz: minutes away from bustling downtown Chicago — make sure you say that, bustling — a European castle in the heart of America, also known as the most haunted spot in the United, no, the _world_. The most haunted place in the world. Spend your days in luxury and your nights in terror!"

"Uh, can we even say the most haunted spot –" Ashlee starts, scribbling on her legal pad.

Pete's on a roll and doesn't respond. "Ghouls and ghosts and monsters and things that go bump in the night! Come to Castle Wentz, where the wild things are, and have an experience from beyond the grave!"

"Pete, there are _no fucking ghosts_ ," Andy says. "We can't lie to people and say that –"

Pete stops just before he gets to the staircase. "Who says there aren't? We can create them, can't we?"

"This is fucked up," Joe says.

Pete beams at them. "C'mon and let's build a fuckin' haunted house."

*****

"I'm not going to be a mermaid," Andy informs them. "Mermaids aren't even scary. And they're girls."

"Don't be a killjoy, Hurley," Pete says, pausing in the middle of his dialing. He's spent practically every waking moment on the phone with travel agents, selling the hotel experience, and he doesn't see why he has to stop just because they're having a planning meeting.

"I think you'd make a totally scary mermaid," Joe supplies helpfully from the controlled chaos of the stage. Joe's in charge of assembling the floor show, and he's drug out all the old backdrops and props that he's amassed during his travels. There's a stuffed alligator head lying by his feet, which he rejected as being too Captain Hooky.

"Thank you, Joe. I'm still not doing it. Why can't Ashlee be a mermaid?"

"I can't be a mermaid because I'm a _banshee_ ," Ashlee says. "He's right, though. Mermaids aren't scary."

"Fine, no mermaids," Joe says. He crosses _mermaid_ off the whiteboard. There's an assortment of monsters and ghouls and various fantastical beasts, stolen from old movies, half-remembered fairy tales and Saturday morning cartoons, all listed under the umbrella title of _Things That Are Scary_. "Hey, how come Patrick gets to skip out on this thing?”

"He's building the pulley whatever-it-is on the roof," Ashlee says. She picks up the half-empty can of spray-on cobwebs next to her and judiciously applies it to the window ledge. "I told him to come down and help out, but he gave me this _look_."

"Don't anyone talk to him until he's finished," Pete says. "It'll just piss him off and nobody needs that. He's made strong men cry." He looks accusingly at the receiver. "Busy, what the fuck. It's like they see me coming. Andy, how's the van looking, now that I think of it?"

"Needs a little more fake blood," Andy says. "And the severed hands keep falling off the grill. Otherwise, okay."

"We've got a week to pull this out of our asses," Pete says. "Everybody keep moving." He starts dialing again.

*****

Joe stands on top of the castle, his hair pulled up in a messy topknot away from his face, and peers down at the corpse on the ground. It looks dead enough; it's only up close that the whole mannequin thing becomes apparent. From a distance, it'll do.

He licks his thumb and holds it out, squinting while he tries for accuracy. He's not sure he's doing it right.

The guillotine thingamajig he's using is mirror-shiny and lightweight, and his fear is that he's going to break it and they'll be screwed out of the trick. Still, as long as he's up here, he might as well try it.

He takes a deep breath and drops the mirror. It rattles and shakes alarmingly on the way down, sending weird reflective light patterns on the walls of the castle, and it falls almost directly onto the mannequin's pop-off head.

He can hear the crunch from half a mile up. The head shoots off at an angle, fake Barbie hair waving in the breeze, bounces onto the ground and then rolls away like a demented soccer ball. It stops just before it rolls into the moat.

Joe looks down at his handiwork and grins. Fucking _epic_.

*****

Ashlee now hates heights. She was pretty much indifferent to them before, but she's been spending what seems like forever suspended in midair, wearing a Joan Jett fright wig and screeching to the best of her ability (Whose bright idea was it that she be a _flying_ banshee? Oh, yeah, hers. _Good one, Ashlee_ ), and her legs are starting to feel like they don't have any bones in them.

They rigged up this perch for her in the big willow tree that stands over the approach to the castle, so that when the group arrives she can kick things off with a bang. She can shinny up the tree with no problem, but she's having trouble coming up with appropriately spooky moves. The perch is narrow and it's hard enough to just keep her feet from slipping off, much less make up a routine.

"Do the booty-shaking thing," Pete calls.

She looks down. Pete's peering up at her, absently fiddling with his Sidekick.

"Banshees don't booty-shake," Ashlee says. "I thought you were still calling people."

He shakes the Sidekick at her. "Hey, I can take a break. I needed fresh air."

She suspects that he doesn't want fresh air so much as he wants to ogle her legs. Pete is horrible at subtlety.

"Time's a-wasting," Ashlee says cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah," Pete mutters. He gives her a longing look. Feeling generous, she bunches up her dress and flashes her inner thigh at him.

"Awesome," Pete says. "Okay, I'm going back to work!" He wanders towards the front door, punching at keys.

Ashlee shakes her head and sighs. She braces her arm against a branch and practices her best crazy flail.

*****

"No, totally modern facilities," Pete assures the travel agent over the phone. "Totally up-to-date." He keeps one eye on Andy, who's finally consented to impersonating a possessed knight. He's trying his best to learn his routine in the relatively open space of the barroom floor, but the suit of armor is too big for him, and it's iron plate of the most authentic type, so though he's giving 'swinging a mace with eerie menace' his best effort, what he's coming up with looks more like 'blindly staggering in several directions at once and trying not to fall over.'

"Dude, you gotta understand that we've got an entire experience going here," Pete says. "I mean, you can't have a fuckin' paranormal — sorry, excuse my language — a paranormal experience in a Days Inn. Ghosts need atmosphere, dude. It's Castle Wentz. We've got a level of ectoplasmic ambiance to uphold." Andy crashes into one of the tables; a muffled stream of curses rushes out of the suit of armor's neck hole. "Well, you know, ambiance. Ghosts _need_ a certain amount of dry rot and damp, or they're not showing up, you know what I'm sayin'? Of course the damage is all superficial, who do you think you're talking to? Hey, just tell your clients that we don't _do_ fake here. We're like Wonderland. Or Never Neverland. But scarier."

Andy falls over. He lies on his back in the middle of the floor, waving his arms and legs, snarling and groaning. The armor makes a somewhat unearthly clanking sound. Pete holds the receiver out so that the agent can get an earful. He brings it back to his ear. "What's that? Oh, yeah, that. We get that all the time. We're used to it. Pretty freaky, right?"

"Get your ass over here and help me," Andy says faintly.

"Yeah. More where that came from, man. Okay, great." Pete hangs up and then goes to get Andy off the floor. "We're in business, Hurley."

"Help."

"I'm _helping_. Keep your pants on, Jesus Christ."

When Andy finally manages to teeter to his feet, he says, "You weren't fucking with me, right?"

"Six bookings," Pete says. "Group of four and a group of two. Not much, but it'll shut that asshole up for a while."

"I'll keep going," Andy says. "But get a drill, I can't see in this thing."

"You'll be perfect," Pete says. "We've got two days until they get here. Plenty of time."

*****

The vacation is Gabe's idea, and, as usual, he doesn't talk to Travis about it until everything is in place. He just barges into the studio while Travis is working, flings some plane tickets and pamphlets in among the paints and brushes on the table, and says, "Halloween in Chicago, babe. How's that for a surprise?"

"You already got the tickets?" Travis says. He snags them up before they can soak up any spilled paint and studies them. "Kind of sudden."

"I thought you wanted us to get away from it all," Gabe says. "This is it. There's a spider on the pamphlet. Awesome, right?"

"I was thinking St. Lucia," Travis says. "You know, sunshine, sea breezes, sand under your toes. What's this, a house tour?"

"It's a haunted house or some fuckin' thing," Gabe says. "Someone at work recommended it. It's in a castle. You're not looking."

"I'm looking, I just think you've lost your mind. You decide out of the blue that we're going to go to some tourist trap in freezing-ass Chicago, in October? You can't pick up the phone and ask my opinion on this?"

"It's a fucking _surprise_ ," Gabe says. "You're the one who's always asking for a fucking romantic gesture."

"You don't even like horror movies. What's the deal with picking this?"

"You've got to get on my ass about _this_ , too? We get one chance for a romantic getaway, and you –"

"Fuckin' ghosts and goblins aren't romantic," Travis says. "How are we –"

"It's on _my_ fuckin' Amex," Gabe says. "You want to pay to fly to the fuckin' Caribbean, go right ahead."

Travis shuts up then. The last thing he needs is to get into another argument about money with Gabe. Because it always comes down to the fact that Gabe is providing for both of them, since Travis is still scrambling to sell paintings and couldn't pay for a vacation if he tried.

So he caves in, and puts any thoughts of bright sunshine and blue oceans out of his head. He tries to look forward to lake effects and spooky noises instead.

*****

They get on the plane after a week of snapping at each other. It's a shitty way to start a vacation. Travis resolves to try to make up for it while they're squeezing their legs into coach class; who knows when they'll get a chance to go away together again, so he might as well act like the boyfriend Gabe wants for one weekend.

Maybe it'll be cool, he thinks, going into the litany he's been trying to repeat to himself over the last week. There could be candlelight and roaring fires and having to clutch onto each other when something weird happened. It could be right out of a Victorian novel. It could be romantic. He tries to focus on that.

He'd thought Gabe would settle down once they'd made it on the plane, but he's twitchy and restless, drumming his fingers on his Sidekick, picking at the armrest. He looks like he's still thinking about work.

"Hey," Travis says. "What about a toast or something?"

Gabe stares blankly at him. "What?"

"I don't know, a toast. To Chicago. To the vacation. To lakes and whatever. To us."

"Toasts are kind of meaningless, babe." Gabe digs a pill vial out of his pocket.

"Well, yeah, they're meaningless, but we could still –"

Gabe shakes two pills into his palm and swallows them dry. "I can't fuckin' deal with those fuckin' stupid plastic cups right now. It's all wrecking the environment. You can't even get drunk on airline portions, all you get is the hangover."

"Who said I was asking to get drunk?" But Gabe's already turning away, trying to fit comfortably in the seat and failing. He pulls the cheap airline blanket over his head. Travis stares at the seat in front of him.

They haven't had sex in two months. The way things look now, he can plan on a few days longer.

*****

Joe is charge of picking up the guests at O'Hare. He's dressed in his best undertaker/hit man gear — black jeans, black trench coat, curls slicked back. He leans against the side of the van, right next to Andy's best depiction of a skull with a wide open screaming mouth. He holds a sign reading Castle Wentz in black lettering.

The guests show up just as Joe's arms start to get tired. It's kind of a scraggly looking bunch. There's a group of four who look exactly like the types who would want to spend Halloween in a haunted house — two men and two women, all of them dressed in black and blinking around them like the sunlight is painful. The other guests are two tall guys who both look like they'd rather be about twenty-five hundred miles away from Chicago.

"Hey there," Joe says. "I'm Joe. I'm going to be driving you around today. Who's got luggage?"

They get the introductions out of the way while Joe's strapping suitcases and duffel bags to the roof. Gerard and Mikey look like brothers once they're standing side by side, Gerard baby-faced and Mikey sharp-featured, but with the same eyes and jawlines. Lindsey and Alicia have sort of the same thing going on, even though Joe thinks they're just sisters-in-law. Frankly, all of them look vaguely similar to each other. The two tall guys, Gabe and Travis, seem to be steadfastly ignoring each other. Joe piles them all into the van and says, "Buckle up."

He only starts the spiel when they're on the road. He's supposed to work to set the mood and maybe freak everybody out a little, but he's always thought it was really obnoxious to get off a plane and have to deal with guerrilla theater before even getting a chance to have coffee.

He gives them a crash course in John Wayne Gacy and the haunted water tower, a little Leopold and Loeb. He spent all night on the internet looking up this stuff, he hopes it hangs together okay.

"This is the Lake Street Pier," he says once they're well into Evanston. "If you'll look kinda on your right there? That's where Leighton Mount's body was found. Leighton Mount was this freshman kid at Northwestern, I think it was back in the twenties? He disappeared during a class rush and no one knew anything for about a year. Then some kid got into a fight with his sister and ran to the pier to chill out or something, and then when he crawled under the pier to hide he found, like, a leg bone and an arm bone. I think it was an arm bone. So he ran out and got the cops, and they found more of this skeleton under the pier. It was all weighted down with fucking rocks and shit."

"Dude," Travis says. "Back up a second. Was what's-his-face the kid who actually died, or the one who found the bunch of bones?"

"The one who died," Joe says. "I forget what the other kid's name was."

"Wow, that's some great research," Gabe says. He picks groggily at the unraveling upholstery of his seat. "What the fuck's wrong with this thing?"

"It all sounds a lot better in my head," Joe says. "What are you gonna do?"

"It's like that thing we saw in Maine," Lindsey pipes up. "Gerard, honey, remember that? The fuckin' dock where they found all those dead bodies? And they thought it was from a mass murderer or something, but –"

"That was a drowning," Gerard says. He shifts his black doctor's bag on his lap — Joe doesn't even know what that's for, he didn't introduce himself as a doctor. "Where the boat capsized? That was a real disappointment."

"It _was_ pretty fuckin' cool, though," she says. "Just the quantity of bones."

"It wasn't only bones, the guy said," Mikey says from the back. "I think he said they were all pretty fresh or something."

"It was really obvious that it wasn't a murder," Gerard says. "They were such scammers down there. So they're sure it was his body?"

"Found his belt buckle on the bones," Joe says. "And his shoes."

"Dead man's shoes," Mikey says, more to himself than anyone else.

"Great," Gabe says.

Alicia suddenly rouses herself from staring out of the window. "Hey, ducks!" she says, and points.

They all take a moment to look at the ducks.

*****

Joe pushes the button to open the gate. It serves two purposes; they actually get into the grounds, and the gate's old and rusty enough that the noise should let Ashlee know to kick the show off. "And this is Castle Wentz, I guess," he tells them, and makes a dramatic swerve onto the gravel driveway. The castle looks huge and foreboding in the late afternoon light.

"Shit," Travis says. He sounds suitably impressed. "The brochure didn't say we'd be staying in Castle Greyskull."

"Pretty sweet, right?" Joe says. He honks on the horn for emphasis. "That castle is almost two hundred years old. Everything you're lookin' at right now is pretty much how it was back in the nineteenth century. Now coming up, we have the wailing willow. It got its name from the howls and wails of the banshee who's rumored to live there. On some nights, you can hear –"

"Banshees are Gaelic," Gerard says. "And they howl when someone is meant to die. What are you doing with a _bean sidhe_ in Chicago, in a _tree_? Wentz is a German name, isn't it?"

"Don't ask me, I just work here," Joe says, thinking, _Oh, great, I gotta deal with a supernatural geek now_. "The Wentz banshee has been known to make a racket on occasion, though, so I'd be careful." He honks the horn again.

*****

Up on her perch, Ashlee sees the van approach and immediately starts to flail, howling her lungs out. She can't see into the van; it's going to pass right under her in a second and she has no clue if she's actually being frightening or not.

She's got this routine down cold, she hopes. She's been up here waiting for Joe to get back from the airport for an hour, and she's had nothing else to do but yelp and practice her moves to try to keep from getting hypothermia. Her long flowy consignment store dress is better for atmosphere than warmth, and her fingers and toes are going numb.

Her voice is disappearing, she can feel it, and she curses herself for pushing too hard, blowing the whole thing before it even got started. The van is going to be right under her in about two seconds, and if she doesn't give them all she's got, right now, the whole weekend's going to be blown to hell. She screams and waves her arms around.

Her foot slips off the perch.

It's way easier to scream terrifyingly when actually falling through the air. She lands on top of the van, splaying across a thankfully squishy duffel bag. She grabs hold of the rack to keep herself from sliding off the back. The van's going about fifteen miles an hour and she prays and prays that it's not fast enough to send her flying. She gulps for air and starts to crawl towards the front, still screaming.

*****

The whole van shudders with the impact. Gabe, who's been generally out of it since they left Evanston, shakes himself and says, "What the fuck?"

"Uh, _Joe_?" Lindsey says. "Joe?"

"The banshee was first spotted in 1900," Joe says. He looks frantically up the driveway; where the fuck's a good place to pull over and let Ash jump off safely? "Lady Penelope Wentz –"

There's a thumping sound on the roof, the howls getting closer. Travis unbuckles his seat belt and jumps up.

"Trav, don't you fucking _dare_ ," Gabe says. "You're gonna –"

Travis opens up the sun roof. Ashlee's face, chalk white, wig half-blown off her head, shoots forward at him. They both shriek at the same time.

"Travis, goddamnit, you're going to get fucking _killed_ ," Gabe says, trying to pull him back down.

"There's a lady on the roof!" Travis says. "There's a fuckin' lady on the _roof_!"

"I'm not a lady, I'm a banshee," Ashlee says wildly, and clutches onto Travis' wrist.

"There's a banshee on the roof," Travis says, trying to hold onto her sleeve. "Goddamn, will you pull over?"

"Lady Penelope," Joe says desperately, "was out for her late afternoon stroll when she first heard the howls of the banshee." He drives over a rock and the van shoots into the air. Ashlee screams and throws her arms around Travis' neck.

"Fuckin' pull over!" Gerard shouts, trying to clamber over the seats to get to Travis.

*****

Pete stands under the awning at the front door, waiting for the guests to arrive. He's dressed in his best getup — the gray suit coat with the white trim, his gray t-shirt, Hot Topic jeans and his gold Supras — and planning what he's going to say when they all get here. He's thinking of starting out with "Welcome to Castle Wentz," but maybe that would be a little too _Jurassic Park_ -y.

He sees the van approaching and waves. For a second he thinks that Joe's driving like he's stoned, and that he's going to have to kill him later. Then he hears the thump-thump-thump of suitcases hitting the ground. There's a head sticking out of the top of the van, black curls flying everywhere, and. And.

Oh, shit.

The van comes rushing past him, and he falls flat on his ass scrambling to get out of the way. He immediately jumps up and starts rushing towards Ashlee, but she goes into a crouch and leaps like a cat onto the awning. Her feet swing back and forth above the ground.

"Ashlee," he says, "Ashlee. Ashlee?"

She drops down onto him, and he says, "Oof."

"The things I do for you," she says through chattering teeth.

"You okay?"

She rolls off and stands up shakily. "I'm fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go throw up." She walks through the doors with immense dignity.

He stands up and looks after the van. The head has popped back down. The van, however, seems to be disappearing over the hill at a rapid pace.

It's going to be a long day.

*****

Joe's only excuse is that he panicked. He managed to get close enough to the awning to let Ashlee jump off, and then he thought everything was fine, but then he saw the trees in front of the windshield and thought, _Oh, fuck,_ as they started careening down the hill.

Several people are screaming. Joe's pretty sure he's going to piss his pants very soon, but he manages to say, "So the ghosts are rumored to walk this hill late at night — oh God hell shitfuck _fuck_!" while swerving and pushing the brake as hard as he can.

He manages to get to a stop just before they hit an oak tree. The van rolls forward gently and taps the bark with barely a shudder.

"End of the line, folks," Joe says.

There's dead silence from the back. From what he can see in the mirror, they're all either clutching the seats or each other, huge shell-shocked eyes staring back at him.

"Hope you enjoy your stay!" Joe says.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" Gabe says finally.

"That's going to be a way too long answer, dude," Joe says. "Who needs help with their bags?"

"The fuckin' bags fell off," Gabe says.

"Okay, we'll go find them. Off you go!"

They all stagger out of the van. Joe bangs his head on the steering wheel a few times and then follows them out. Alicia and Mikey are scavenging for the suitcases, which seem to have formed a trail behind the van.

Pete stands at the top of the hill, looking down at them with the vacant smile he gets when he's nervous. "Welcome to Castle Wentz!" he calls.

"End of the fucking world," Gabe says.

*****

Pete manages to get everyone rounded up and back to the hotel without further incident. He tries his best to put the thought of suing out of everyone's heads by talking a blue streak all the way back to the hotel. He hopes everyone will forget about the whole near-death experience thing by dinner.

Andy's in charge of the food, largely because he's the only one who can cook. Their budget and Andy's own predilections mean that the menu options are limited to various forms of lentils, but at least the portions are hearty.

Pete walks into the dining room to find everyone looking contemplatively into their bowls. "Evening, everyone!" he says. "Did I say 'Welcome to Castle Wentz' yet? Because it ought to be repeated."

"I think we all heard it," Gabe says.

"Oh. Okay, then." Pete puts his hands on the back of his chair. He totally had a bunch of awesome stories to tell, but he's getting stage fright and they're all looking like they expect him to say something, which just makes him more nervous.

"So we heard a lot about your ghosts," Lindsey says. "Do you –"

"My wife's being nice," Gerard says. "You really don't have any ghosts here, Mr. Wentz."

 _Oh, God_. "Oh!" Pete says. "Looks like we've got ourselves a skeptic. Dude, I can tell you –"

"I'm a _parapsychologist_ , dude," Gerard says. "I trained with Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research, maybe you've heard of it? I've gone to more fake haunted houses –"

 _Oh, fucking God._ "Princeton!" Pete says. "I didn't know Princeton trained ghost experts. Is it like a _Ghostbusters_ thing down in the basement?"

Gerard just gives him a withering look.

"It's kind of our thing," Lindsey says, trying to defuse the death glare. "We just came back from a trip to Montana. The devil worshipping house, remember? That wasn't as nice as this place."

"Oh, God," Alicia says. "Remember the posters? And the kitchen?"

"Dead gerbils everywhere," Mikey says.

"That was some kid and his buddies in a house," Gerard says. "Social hysteria from the neighbors. Just because someone's a little different, okay, and listens to too much Iron Maiden –"

"Hey, you can never have too much Iron Maiden," Pete says, before it occurs to him that he maybe should keep his mouth shut for a while.

"People like you _trick_ people," Gerard says, beginning to look upset. "You prey on the real mythologies and psychic energies in the world, and –"

"Babe, you think this might be saved for dessert?" Lindsey says.

"Listen to the lady," Pete says. "So, how many parapsychologists do we have here tonight? Just one? Okay. Anybody need a drink?"

*****

Actually, Travis thinks, the hotel is way cooler than he thought it was going to be. He feels like he's just walked into one of the toys from his childhood. He still doesn't know what he's doing here.

Gabe's sitting next to him, looking suspiciously at his soup; it looks like he's in another one of his I-just-can't-deal moods, which means he's going to either be sulking or being bitchy all night. It's a pain in the ass, because Gabe's better at making conversation with unfamiliar people than he is. Travis has no idea what to say. Maybe he could ask the woman sitting next to him about her tattoos.

There's a painting directly across from him that looks like it's been there for at least a hundred years. It looks like typical Pre-Raphaelite work, though the colors have faded from age and some serious lack of upkeep. The guy in the painting peers out from under unruly brown hair at him. He's standing at a window, half-turned like someone's just called his name. His eyes are narrow and deep-set, but there's a kind of dreamy sadness about them.

"Hey," he says to Wentz, who's passing the bread basket around. "Who's that guy in the painting?"

"Cousin of mine," Wentz says. "Like, a million times removed. William Beckett. He was some kind of minor poet back in the day; I'll ask Patrick if we've still got some of his stuff in the library. He died here in the castle right at the turn of the century."

"What happened, did he eat the food?" Gabe mutters.

Wentz gives him a look. "He was murdered, actually. So the wiseass bit is really fuckin' inappropriate. Sorry about the language."

"Painting's pretty good, though. Like John Everett Millais smooshed up with Rossetti," Travis says. "Got the eyes real nice. What happened to your cousin, uh —"

"Pete. No one's sure, really. They think it was some kind of drunken fight. Partying runs in the family, know what I mean?" Pete grins at him. "You know art, bro?"

"Well, enough," Travis says. "Sort of."

"My own little starving artist," Gabe says, and it comes out ugly.

"You want to fuckin' stop it?" Travis says. "I'm not talking to _you_ , okay, so –"

Pete picks up the bread basket and walks off with an admirable amount of unobtrusiveness.

*****

"I don't want to sing," Patrick says.

"We need someone to kick the show off, dude," Pete says. He rubs Patrick's shoulders. "Ease them into the spooky stuff."

"The show's fine. I'm not part of the show. It'll go off great without me."

"My speech takes like five minutes, dude. I can't have the fuckin' floor show just be me with Joe working the cranks. C'mon."

"The fuckin' guitar's out of tune," Patrick says. He looks into the bar again, stares at the guests moving about. "Ashlee can sing. Get Ashlee to sing."

"Ashlee's been screaming all day. You want her to blow her throat out completely? You are a cold-hearted son of a bitch."

"I don't know _why_ you suddenly decided that your show needs a musical number. You fuckin' _spring_ this on me, and I have no fucking time to prepare –"

"Hey, we're all fuckin' improvising here. Sing that one song. It'll be great."

"Okay, one, you're an asshole, and two, I want a raise. Go get my fuckin' guitar."

"Fantastic." Pete kisses his cheek. "Where is it, under the desk?"

"Yeah. Also, that's sexual harassment and it means I get a double raise. Go get it."

"Man, _demanding_ , too," Pete says, and hustles off to get the guitar.

Joe flicks the lights in the bar on and off when Pete comes back with the guitar. Pete stands at the side of the stage. Patrick clomps out, avoiding the cardboard waves and ships that Joe rigged up, and blinks into the light.

"Hi, I'm Patrick, and I work here. For now. Uh, I have this song, and if you know the words you can sing along to it, I guess, but if you either don't know the words or don't like the song, then I don't know what to tell you, so –"

"Sing!" Pete bellows.

Patrick looks at the side of the stage. "For _now_. I work here for _now_." He goes into the first chords of Greetings to the New Brunette.

Pete looks out at the guests, all upturned faces and closed eyes, drinks forgotten on the tables. He smiles.

Patrick totally starts enjoying himself by the second verse, too.

When Patrick gets off the stage, sweaty and smiling, Pete makes a gesture at Joe, who kills the house lights, leaving the stage illuminated (faintly, with one cheap light, but illuminated), and turns on the gears. The cardboard waves and boats start to sway back and forth. Ashlee puts music over the sound system, rickety amusement park music, and Pete waits a second before making his grand entrance. He spreads his arms.

"The moon is up, your time is up. My disposition can't relax on these conditions. They're out tonight in this lost night. Bolt your doors and shut your eyes, we lost at life within your lies. Tonight, they walk." He attempts an evil laugh, but given that he can only manage a bray at the best of times, the effect is somewhat dampened. "This…is where the wild things are." He tries the evil laugh again. It still doesn't work. He gestures at Joe, who mutters, "Fucking shit, dude," and kills the lights. The music stops.

"Dude," Mikey says.

"Think they're coming back?" Travis asks.

"Yo, I don't even want to find out," Gabe says. He stands up.

"Nobody kill themselves on the chairs," Gerard says.

"The song was nice," Alicia says, feeling her way through the dark.

The door shuts behind them. Pete says, "Okay, phase two."

*****

Gerard has ensconced himself in the chair by the window, muttering darkly about observed deviation and variance while scribbling in his notebook. Strange blips and bleeps from the oscillator float over the air occasionally. He's got his headphones on so he can hear himself record, and Lindsey figures he's in for the long haul.

"Babe?" she says. "What time you planning to go to bed?"

"Calculating standard deviation at 5.4," Gerard says dreamily.

"Okay then," Lindsey says.

She knows it's a scam, and Gerard knows it's a scam, but Gerard's big on compiling evidence, on making an airtight case in order to protect the spirit world from frauds. "You think they have a Better Business Bureau on the other side?" he's said on numerous occasions.

In a way, she sort of regrets that they've come here with the sole purpose of trying to shut the place down. She was hoping for a moment when she could take the proprietor, that Wentz guy, aside and tell him how fucking cool the whole hotel was, that he didn't need fake ghosts and goblins to try to jazz things up. The whole place is built as if its sole purpose is to get people to imagine their own ghosts creeping around the halls.

She stands up, and looks in vain for some kind of bureau or closet. She settles for tossing her shirt over the helmet of the suit of armor in the corner, underneath the faded photographic print of a blonde girl in a flapper outfit. "Well, look at _you_ ," she says to the suit, and taps a fingernail against the iron.

The whole place is chock-a-block full of anachronisms. She kind of likes that.

She should probably go see how Alicia and Mikey are holding up. Now that she thinks of it, Mikey's probably in the middle of a texting binge and just as dead to the world as Gerard is, so he should be okay. But Alicia's never been as into the supernatural stuff as the rest of them are; she should go make sure she's not too bored. She grabs an old t-shirt and says loudly, "Just heading down the hall," but Gerard's too busy muttering about the "Biggest fucking scam I've ever seen in my life" into the tape recorder to even look up.

She tugs the shirt down around her hips and starts down the hall, leaving the door open behind her.

*****

Andy almost swallows his tongue when the tall lady whose name he doesn't know taps on the suit of armor, saying, "Well, look at _you_." His first thought was that he'd been found out and he'd have to make a dash for it, or as much of a dash as he can wearing seventy pounds of armor, and his second thought was that it was as good a time as any to start the whole clanking and moaning routine, but it seems like she's just talking to the suit rather than him.

Before he can think of anything to do, she's saying to Gerard, "Just heading down the hall," while pulling a raggedy shirt over her head, and she doesn't even give him a chance to start waving his arms before she's out of the room.

Gerard's been out of it since they got back in the room, and if he's too busy trying to find real ghosts then Andy's not going to waste his time doing the fake ghost act for him. He clanks after her and shuts the door behind him.

She's standing in the doorway, talking to that other girl — Andy doesn't know her name either — saying, "Holding up okay?"

"I am watching a documentary about paper factories," the other girl says. "I think I kind of like it. But I'm exhausted right now, so. And kind of grossed out. Does your room have cobwebs in it, too?"

"Yeah," she says dreamily. "Isn't it great?"

The other girl giggles and punches her shoulder. "Weirdo."

"Don't hear anyone complaining," she says. "Where's Mikey?"

"He went off exploring. He says he can sell an article to _The Skeptic_ on the place. Really, I think he just wants to send Youtube videos to his boss some place where I can't see and laugh at him. They've got some weird competition going."

"Everyone needs a hobby. Enjoy the fuckin' paper factory or whatever."

"I'm planning on it. Night." The other girl shuts the door.

The tall lady starts back down the hallway, and Andy immediately starts waving his arms around and saying, "Whoo, whoo," but it's like she doesn't even notice, just strides back into her own room like she's on a mission and locks the door in his face.

Son of a bitch.

*****

Ashlee is so beyond over this. She thought she was going to be able to handle another round of shrieking banshee, but she's already almost killed herself once today, and the wind on top of the castle is threatening to send her plunging out into space, and her faith in Patrick's pulley system (otherwise known as her in a harness and a thin wire) is being sorely tested.

"I'm done," she tells Pete. "I'm done, I'm over it."

"It's two feet away, babe, and I'm right here."

"You're not the one shooting into the goddamn _air_ ," she says. "I swear to God, Peter —"

"No, babe, it'll take five seconds. You think I'm about to let you fall?"

" _Once_ ," she says. "Once, and I'm going inside."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. You ready?"

"No," she says, and jumps.

At first she can barely see anything; the wind's rushing at her face and it stings and she's too busy trying to make sure the wire isn't about to snap to really get her bearings. She realizes she's going to pass the window in about two seconds.

Gerard has his head down and headphones on, and she wails and whoops and moans without him even looking up. She waves her arms at him. Nothing. Then Pete's reeling her back in and she drops onto the platform with wobbly legs.

"Did he see you?"

"No, he didn't see me," she says. "He didn't even look at me."

"What the fuck, dude."

"He's got headphones on. I yelled my head off."

"Hey, try it again. Tap on the window, get his attention."

"You've lost your damn mind. I will _not_."

"Two seconds."

"Peter, I am going to _rip your balls off_ –"

"You can so totally kick my ass when this is over. Seriously, anything you want."

"I hate you," she says, and jumps.

She starts wailing before she even hits the window, really good ones too, but then she gets by the pane and Gerard still hasn't looked up. She takes a deep breath and rattles the pane. Nothing.

" _Look at me_ , fucker!" Ashlee shouts. She brings her leg to her chest and grabs her shoe, then throws it at the window. It bounces off the glass and then falls into the moat with a splash. " _Fuck!_ "

*****

The paper factory documentary is losing its allure pretty fast. Alicia sprawls on her stomach on the end of the bed, trying not to fall asleep in front of the television. The narrator is droning on about cedars and oaks and maples and their relative effect on the pulp.

Usually, she never has a problem finding something to do when they go off on one of Gerard's missions. Lin and Mikey are really into it, and Gerard is just, well, Gerard, but she's never really been into ghosts and goblins. She might see about going downtown tomorrow morning; she'll be a typical tourist and pick up some toys for the animals and take pictures of buildings and road signs. Tomorrow. When she's not completely worn out.

The bed creaks underneath her and she manages to drag her eyes open. She's not looking at the television anymore. In fact, the television seems to have migrated somewhere to the left.

"What the fuck," she mutters. Maybe she's been traveling too much; she doesn't remember having jet lag this bad _ever_. She puts her head back down. The bed creaks louder, and when she opens her eyes, she's looking at the closed room door.

She gets the feeling this might not be her.

"Uh," Alicia says, and sits up, swinging her legs over the side, but the bed keeps shifting and oh fuck, is it actually _off the ground_?

"You can knock that shit off right the hell now," Alicia says. She waves her arm under the bed, looking for any hidden mechanisms; she's been on enough of Gerard's "save the spirit world from con artists" trips to know that there's always, usually, a trick somewhere. All she does is raise some dust bunnies.

"I don't even believe in ghosts," she says. "You're wasting your time."

She doesn't get a response. The bed keeps spinning and creaking, and it actually seems to be going faster. She _knows_ , seriously, that someone has to be causing it, but she can feel the whole thing getting higher and higher and it's starting to freak her out.

"Mikey?" she calls. "Um, Mikey? _Mikey_!"

The door to the room bursts open and Mikey hurries in, Sidekick still in hand. He takes one look at the bed. "Oh, shit," he says.

"Find out who's doing it!" Alicia says. "Make them stop, I don't like this, I don't like it."

He jumps onto the bed with her. "No!" she says. "Mikey, they're doing something, I can't see where it is –" The spinning is making her dizzy.

"Gotta be something," he says and struggles to his feet. He taps on the underside of the canopy.

"You are going to kill yourself," Alicia says. The bed is whirling. "Goddamnit, just get me off this thing."

"I'm gonna find out where it is," Mikey says. "I'm gonna – I'm gonna be sick, I think."

*****

Joe seriously can't keep turning this crank much longer. He'd thought it was a good idea when they first brought it up — a simulated _Exorcist_ experience, just attach a pole to the top of the bed and hide it with some fabric, rig up a merry-go-round dealie and they're in business.

Except it's way harder to move more than a hundred pounds of wood and bedsprings than he thought it was going to be, and though the muffled curses and gasps from the floor beneath him are heartening, he's still fighting with the machinery and it's threatening to kick his ass. He's sweating and grunting and it would really suck if he lost his grip on the wheel now.

*****

They're almost to the ceiling, it looks like, and Mikey's no further along in the canopy-tapping. "It's not working!" Alicia says. She plasters herself onto the mattress, trying to find a position that would result in the least bodily damage. Mikey's going to kill himself, she knows it, and it would be so typical of her husband to break his neck while trying to find an imaginary ghost. "Mikey, _get down_."

The creaking turns into a sound ominously like cracking. In a sudden fit of self-preservation, Mikey drops down next to her just as they start spinning wildly in the opposite direction, and she pushes him into the mattress.

The bed breaks when they hit the floor, splinters and torn fabric falling all around them. Alicia opens her eyes and looks around. She thinks she's still in one piece. Mikey looks up at her. "You okay?" he says.

"I think we should get another room right about now," Alicia says.

*****

Lindsey thinks it was the mention of cobwebs that started it off. Alicia mentioned cobwebs and she started thinking more about the hotel, about all the cool dark passageways and hidden places, all of them just waiting to be discovered, and by the time she gets back to their room she's so wound up that she can't stand it.

Gerard's actually standing on the chair now, mumbling about changes in humidity and temperature, and she doesn't even say hello, just flings herself on top of the bed, pulling her jeans low around her hips. She undoes her zipper and croons, "Come along, now."

Gerard drops his pencil. "Oh. _Oh_."

"Shouldn't be up so late," Lindsey says. "You should be…in bed."

Gerard jumps off the chair. "Well, I don't know…Oh, what the hell is _that_ , it's pathetic."

Lindsey sits up with a jerk. " _Hey!_ " But he's bounding past her, waving his arms, and she's about to keep yelling at him when she sees something fly past the window.

*****

It's completely typical. He'd been totally distracted and everything had been totally quiet for once, and then Lin had laid down with that look in her eyes and he was _all set_ for a good solid round of The Peasant Boy and The Romanian Countess, and then the fakest ghost he'd ever seen in his life was standing behind Lin's head and totally wrecking the mood by trying to pull some Casper bullshit on them. It's dressed up in bandages, which is total bullshit, because since when had mummification ever had any spiritual significance in America, and it looks pretty fucking similar to that little redheaded guy in the hat who works in the hotel.

"Oh, what the hell is _that_ , it's pathetic." He jumps onto the bed and goes after the reflection. Lin sits up and yells, " _Hey_!" and he regrets it just as much as she does but he can't stop himself now.

"What the fuck's that, mirrors? You're using a semi-silver mirror for this?" The reflection disappears; he feels along the wall, looking for any cleverly concealed gadgetry.

"Gerard!" Lindsey says, rushing towards the window. He hears someone wailing and whirls around, seeing a flash of a white dress and bare feet flying past them.

*****

Patrick doesn't know how he let himself get talked into this. Besides the fact that it was Pete who did the talking. Somehow, "standing on a platform in October while dressed up like a mummy" never appeared on his list of Things to Do Before I Die.

He knows he must make an unimpressive mummy — the bandages came from the hotel first aid kit and have to go right back where they came from when this is all over — and he's got a pretty limited range of movement on his platform. The mirrors are set up in strategic locations so he can project himself all over the hotel. He's not a dancer like Ashlee, and he doesn't have Andy's ninja skills, or Joe's inherent sense of entertainment, but what the fuck, he can walk a platform, as long as the wind doesn't blow him off.

He's done with the first room. He shifts a little, sideways, like a crab, and prepares for the next one.

*****

Gabe's been ignoring him ever since they got back from dinner. He sits in bed with his shoes on, scribbling something on a legal pad. Occasionally he gives Travis an annoyed look when he changes TV channels.

"I don't know why we even took a vacation if you're not going to act like you're even having one," Travis says.

"I'll vacation later," Gabe says. "It's like ten at night, what the fuck do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Travis says. "We could –" A whole host of things pops into his head. _Go explore the castle, go out to Chicago and find a club, turn on some stupid movie and fucking snuggle,_ something. "Hey, remember when you used to be fun?"

"Remember when you used to be nice?" Gabe says. "Let me finish this, okay?"

"Jesus, Gabe." He gets up off the bed. "You don't even want to take time out for fucking or anything?"

"I'm sure you want that just as much as I do," Gabe says.

"Oh, fuckin' nice," Travis says. "You know –"

This _thing_ suddenly materializes by the side of the bed. It's tiny and pale and wrapped in bandages, and it's making grabby motions at Gabe's head. Gabe is oblivious to it. "What the _fuck_?" Travis says and springs onto the bed, waving his arms at the thing, but they pass right through.

"In your dreams," Gabe says, and shoves him off, just as the thing disappears. "I'm not fuckin' kidding around, Travis."

"There's a goddamn ghost in the room," Travis says. "It was right there."

"Oh, bullshit," Gabe snarls. "You're making up ghosts now? Are you that fuckin' bored?"

"We're in a _haunted house_ ," Travis says. "What am I –"

"You're making pathetic excuses because you want to get laid. Tough fuckin' luck." Gabe stalks over to their suitcases and begins rummaging around in them.

"You know, you used to be a lot easier to take when you weren't fucked up half the time," Travis says.

"Yeah, and you were a lot easier to take when you _were_ fucked up," Gabe says. He picks up a pill bottle. "Someone's got to pick up the slack here."

That hurt like hell. "Good addict move," Travis says. "Been practicing that one?"

"I bet you really care," Gabe snaps and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

*****

The reflection seems to have disappeared, and the flying whatever-it-was hasn't come back. "We're fuckin' getting out of here," he tells Lindsey, and goes towards the door to go collect Mikey and Alicia.

When he opens the door, there's a suit of armor blocking his path, and _that's_ something he didn't expect. "Uh," he says. "Um."

"It's got my fuckin' shirt!" Lindsey says, outraged. "It's wearing my fuckin' _shirt_!"

"Oh, that is _it_ ," Gerard says. "Fuckin' con artist pervert. Where the fuck do you get off –"

"Give me that," Lindsey spits, and grabs her shirt off the suit's head. The suit starts backing away. The door down the hall opens; Alicia and Mikey, wild-eyed and disheveled, stick their heads out. The suit clanks towards them.

"Get _away_ from my fucking brother!" Gerard says. He grabs the first thing at hand, which happens to be a table lamp. "Mikey, Alicia, get behind me. You want to threaten my family, you fuck?"

The suit makes a somewhat feeble pass at him with a gauntlet; Gerard swings the lamp and it breaks against the iron plate. "You fraud, you goddamn –"

"Gerard, back off," Mikey says. "You're –"

"I'm what?" Gerard says, still brandishing what remains of the lamp. They're standing at the end of the hall now, by the windows. Something in a white dress shoots by the pane, wailing.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Alicia says, backing up against the wall. The suit takes advantage of Gerard's distraction to duck into a corridor and start clanking down the hall.

"Oh, no, you _don't_ ," Lindsey says, and rushes after it.

"What the fuck was that?" Mikey says.

"I'll show you," Gerard says, and throws the window open. He can see a tiny man wrapped in bandages on a platform on the side of the building, surrounded by mirrors. Without thinking, he chucks the broken lamp at one of them. Adrenaline must improve his aim, because the mirror shatters and the tiny man throws his arms up, yelling, "Oh, oh, God."

"That's right!" Gerard says, but then he can't think of anything else, so he just slams the windows shut decisively.

*****

"You ever think about giving those a rest for one night?" Travis says to the closed door. Gabe doesn't answer. "You know, we might get to fuck more often if you weren't spending your life drugged to the gills."

Gabe still doesn't answer. Travis says, "Would you fuckin' listen to me for once?"

"I can't fuckin' stop," Gabe says.

"Can't stop what?" Travis says, and tries the knob. "Gabe, please."

"Will you back off?"

"Gabe, don't take the goddamn pill," Travis says, and forces the door open. Gabe's staring at himself in the mirror, looking exhausted. "Don't, Gabe, come on."

"Over and done with," Gabe says. "Spare me the fucking lecture tonight."

"Gabe, _please_."

A screaming woman in white flies by the bathroom window and grabs onto the pane. "Oh, _fuck_ ," Gabe says, and backs up, tripping over the bath mat. Travis throws the window open and hauls her inside, far enough to unhook the wire from the harness she's strapped up in.

She stares at him. "Um, hi?" she says.

*****

Andy didn't have a plan for this particular contingency. He's got a tall, very pissed off woman heading down on him, and he has ethical issues with fighting with women, and he would bet that she doesn't have the same reservations about kicking his ass. He's just trying to lose her.

He almost makes it to the lobby, as he sees Pete and a shaken-looking Patrick coming through the doors. He tries to make the "help, help, emergency," signal, but then he trips as he's running down to the lobby and goes ass over teakettle down the stairs.

"What the fuck?" Pete says, rushing towards him.

"That is a thief and a pervert!" the tall pissed off woman shouts. "You –"

The lobby echoes with the resounding yowl of " _Wentz!_ "

*****

Pete knows they're fucked once he and Patrick get into the lobby and get greeted by Andy falling down a flight of stairs. He's closely followed by Lindsey, who looks ready to kill someone.

"What the fuck?" Pete says, and runs towards Andy.

"That is a thief and a pervert!" she says. "You –"

" _Wentz!_ " Gerard shouts, rushing around the corner with Mikey and Alicia. Two seconds later, Gabe and Travis appear with Ashlee in between them.

"Ash?" Pete says. She breaks away and runs toward him.

"Peter," she whispers, "I'm sorry, I tried, I –"

"Shh."

"This," Gerard says, "is the worst excuse for a supernatural experience I've ever seen."

"Hey, it'll get _better_ , dude," Pete says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Joe, shame-faced and pale, sneaking in through the back, and he doesn't even want to know what he's gone through.

"Oh, fuck that," Gabe says. "We're leaving. We're fuckin' out of here tomorrow morning, bro. And don't even think about charging me."

"Hey," Pete says, aware that he's sounding more and more desperate, "just give the place some time. You know what a dress rehearsal is, right? This is like a big dress rehearsal for everything else."

"You are dangerous," Gerard says. "You are making a mockery of my profession, and you're fucking putting my family at risk, okay, and the sooner I can shut you down the better. We're leaving. Now. You should be ashamed of yourself. Shame on you. Shame."

Patrick closes his eyes. Pete stares at the floor. Ashlee starts to shudder beside him.

"Maybe we can get another chance," she says. "Maybe Walter White will give us one more chance."

She says it so softly that he's not sure anyone else heard, but then Travis pauses as he's following Gabe up the stairs and says, "What?"

"It doesn't matter," Ashlee says miserably.

"No, no, go ahead. Walter White?"

"Travis –" Gabe says.

"He owns the mortgage on the hotel," Ashlee says. "He – he told us that we've got three weeks to pay him the money, and we've only got two weeks left, and he said that after that –" Her voice cracks. "That we're going to lose everything." And then she bursts into tears.

Travis stares blankly at her. Gabe says, "Travie, come on."

"No," Travis says. "Pete?"

"We fuckin' _lied_ , okay?" Pete says. He pulls Ashlee close. "We lied to get you to come here. Patrick's not a mummy. Andy's not a knight and Ash isn't a banshee. You know why we did this, bro? Because this is our home, okay. This is where I grew up, and it's where my family's been forever, and it's where every person here belongs. We need this place. We need it because it's home. If it's gone, then we've got nothing. And you don't fuckin' care. You don't care if we lose the only place we have. And you made Ashlee cry. As far as I'm concerned you can all go fuck yourselves."

"Gabe," Travis says. " _Gabe._ "

"What's he got to do with it?" Andy says. He looks up at Gabe, who's trying to slink up the stairs.

"Walter White," Travis says, "is my boyfriend's boss. Gabe, who was it at work that told you to come here?"

"That asshole is your _boss_?" Joe says.

Gabe looks down at them. He seems like he's preparing to make a run for it.

"What the fuck, Gabe?" Travis says.

"So he asked me to come here!" Gabe says. "Okay, yeah, that happened. But I gotta tell you, bro, there aren't going to be _any_ extensions on the mortgage, not after tonight. And why is it that _you're_ the assholes who nearly kill us, and we're the ones who get yelled at? What kind of asinine logic is that?"

"You came here to sabotage us," Patrick says, low and dark. They all start to advance on the stairs.

"You did that fine on your own!" Gabe snaps. "I didn't need to do shit. Travis, are you coming or what?" He turns on his heel and stalks up the stairs.

Travis turns around and looks at Pete. "I –"

"Just go," Pete says.

"I'm sorry," Travis says. "I didn't know. About this. I meant to tell you how fuckin' cool the place was. If things had –" He shrugs helplessly, and starts up the stairs. " _Gabe_."

Pete turns around and looks at everyone. Gerard looks guilty as hell, but he still walks up the stairs without saying anything. Lindsey and Alicia follow him. Mikey spreads his hands and mutters, "I'm sorry," before he goes upstairs.

"Now what?" Andy says.

"I'm going to go get packed," Joe says.

*****

Travis catches up to Gabe when he's halfway back to the room. Gabe starts to say something, but Travis spits, "What the fuck's going on?" and grabs his shoulders. Gabe just glares at him, because Gabe can never, ever admit he's wrong. Travis shoves him against the wall. "Talk to me, goddamnit."

"He knew I had vacation time coming up. He asked me to come check the place out," Gabe says. "He wants to sell it off, the sooner the better, but he needs to know they would have failed anyway. Cover his ass."

"You lied to me," Travis says. "You came in saying it was going to be our romantic getaway, and you were thinking the whole time about how you were going to suck up to your asshole boss?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Gabe says. "Everything can't be goddamn hearts and flowers Hallmark bullshit all the time, Travis. You wouldn't have even gotten on the plane if I hadn't lied, okay?"

"What the fuck happened to you?" Travis says. "When did you turn into the guy who just thinks about how to get ahead at work?"

"Because _someone_ has to be," Gabe says. "It's sure as fuck not going to be you, is it?"

Travis stares at him, at his guilty eyes and set mouth, and thinks, _This is not the person I fell in love with_. He punches the wall above Gabe's head and turns away.

"Goddamnit, don't you walk away from me," Gabe says.

"Don't you tell me what to do," Travis says, walking back towards the lobby.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get fucked up," Travis says. "You can just do whatever the hell you want."

The bar is empty except for Pete when he gets there. Pete looks like he's already got a running start at the liquor.

"Hey," Travis says.

Pete looks up. "Hey. You all right?"

"No, not really," Travis says. "You closed?"

"Yeah, but who cares. Grab a glass." Pete leans over the bar and plucks a pint glass out.

"I left my wallet back in the room," Travis says. "I can start a tab or something –"

"Dude, considering that I told my guests to go fuck themselves like half an hour ago, I don't think we're going to be open very long. Just help me deplete the stock, okay?"

"Fine with me," Travis says, and grabs the glass. He helps himself to the open bottle in front of Pete.

*****

"I don't want you to get closed down, Pete," he slurs sometime after the fourth whiskey. Pete's sitting on top of the bar, legs dangling, peering into his glass.

"Neither do I," Pete says. "But I don't know what I can do about it now. Story of my life, dude."

"I'll call Gabe's asshole boss myself. Or make Gabe call him, he doesn't know who I am."

"Would Gabe go for that?"

"No."

"What's your guy's problem, anyway?"

"I got no fuckin' idea," Travis says. "You ever think you're going to meet, like, your perfect person? Soul mate, whatever?"

"Yeah," Pete says. "I met two of them. Did you –"

"I thought that it was done when I met Gabe, you see. I thought it was all wrapped up."

"So what happened?"

" _Life_ happened," Travis says. "When I met him, like, fuck, six, seven years ago, we were both doing these weird art shows, performance art, shit like that. I thought we were going to be starving artists together forever. Happy, but starving. Then I guess I got a little too fucked up, on…drugs or whatever, and Gabe said that I needed some stability for a while until I got myself together. He got a steady job and it got us a house and I got myself un-fucked up, sort of. And then after I got un-fucked up things started going to hell."

"It's kind of a romantic gesture, when you think about it," Pete says.

"Last romantic gesture he ever made," Travis says. "I thought it wasn't going to last, you know, and we could go back to where we started. He hates that fucking place. But he's good at his job, and he's making more money than he ever did painting himself blue and screaming for a living, and I can't really pick up the slack on what I make, you know? We're both kind of stuck."

"Shit," Pete says. He takes a drink.

"He tells me I'm too romantic. I want everything to be red roses and poetry and stolen kisses and shit like that. That's not Gabe."

"Hell, I'm the least romantic person on the planet," Pete says. "Sometimes I get it together to make an effort, though."

"I think we've stopped trying," Travis says.

"You need a drink," Pete says.

"I've got a drink."

"No, no. Grandfather's recipe. Made right here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Grandpa was a bootlegger," Pete says proudly. "We're full of places to hide shit in." He staggers over to the wall, taps something, and drags a dusty bottle out.

"Holy shit, dude," Travis says. "Why're you fucking around with ghosts when you've got Al Capone for a grandfather?"

"Hey, it was just a hobby of his. Try this." Pete comes back and sloshes some vivid yellow stuff into Travis' glass. Travis drinks it obediently.

It burns his throat on the way down, and he chokes and almost gags, but then it hits his stomach and spreads out like a warm blanket. "Ungh," Travis says.

"Okay," Pete says. "Okay, I'm going to tell you something, okay. I think you should go up there and tell him what you told me. Fix things. Let me think that I've done one thing right."

"Okay," Travis says. "Okay, I'm going to." And then he falls off his chair.

*****

Travis weaves his way up the steps, carrying Grandpa Wentz' unholy brew. Pete insisted that he take it along to use as liquid courage. He's drunk way too much to plan out what he's going to say, or even how to really remember how to open a door, but he can figure something out. He's crafty.

"Not my fault you're unhappy," he mumbles, trying the words out. "Maybe. Don't think so. Doesn't mean you get to –" The hallway's really dark. And long. And twisty. He braces himself against the wall whenever he turns a corner.

He grabs a doorknob and wrenches it. It flies open and he staggers in. The room is dark, too; when he flicks a switch, only the light by the bed turns on.

"All I'm asking for is normal boyfriend shit," he says in the direction of the bed. "It can't be that fuckin' much to ask for, right? I should get an 'I love you' or something once in a while, right? Gabe? Gabe?" No answer.

"C'mon, we're talking. I'm not yelling," he says. "Gabe?" He goes towards the bed.

Halfway there he realizes that Gabe's not answering because Gabe's not there. Because Travis is in the wrong fucking room.

"Ah, shit," Travis says, and slumps onto the bed. He doesn't know where he is and he doesn't know how to get back.

He twirls the bottle in his hand, listening to the liquor splash against the side of the glass. He's going to get up in a minute and try to find his way back to the room, he totally is.

The room suddenly lights up. Travis blinks and looks around, and oh, goddamnit, there's someone by the door, fiddling with the keyhole.

"Hey," Travis says, "Hey, I'm sorry, the door was open, I'm just –"

The guy by the door doesn't answer. He rushes into the room and Travis jumps up. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving."

The guy still ignores him, which is weird, but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to tell Travis to get out, which is fine with him. Travis sits back down. The guy searches through the bedside table, muttering something. Truth is, he looks a little drunk himself.

What's also weird is that Travis doesn't think he's one of the other guests, and he thought that the hotel staff was just comprised of Joe and Andy and Patrick and Ashlee. He still kind of looks familiar, though. Tall and skinny, unruly hair and narrow dark eyes, eyes that are a little unfocused but still—

"Oh, fuck, dude," Travis says. "You're meant to be the dude from the painting, right? I didn't even fuckin' recognize you at first!"

" _William_ ," someone shouts from the doorway. Travis looks around — there's another stranger in the doorway, and he looks pissed.

"You can talk to me once you can speak like a human being, Carden," the guy in the painting says. "I want you _out_."

This must be another one of Pete's skits – both of them are dressed up in costumes from some Victorian melodrama, and there's a weird shimmery effect around them that must be a lighting trick. Travis says, "Pete, c'mon, it's over, you don't need to scare me anymore."

"Everything is what you want," the other guy – Carden? — says. "You lying –"

"Why do I bother with you? You've always been a thug. Get the hell out."

Carden rushes at him, knocks him onto the bed beside Travis. Travis says, "Hey! Hey, knock it off, okay, I said you don't need to –"

"So were you just amusing yourself?" Carden is shorter than the guy from the painting, but broader and sturdier-looking. "Were you? _Were_ you?"

They're both thrashing and kicking and snarling like hell, but Travis can't even feel the bed move, and neither of them have noticed that he's right next to them. What the fuck?

"Hey," Travis says, getting up. "Pete, I don't know where you got these guys –"

William elbows Carden in the side and makes a run for it. "Don't you," Carden snarls, getting up. He slams William against the wall. "Bored little boy. So bored he needs to play around –"

William draws back, paling. And then he suddenly _spits_. Travis sees something splatter on Carden's face. He backhands William, who staggers and tries to jerk away. Carden grabs his arm.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Travis says.

"As if I ever cared at all," William says, struggling. "As if I ever _could_ -"

"Liar," Carden says, and there's a flash of a blade in his hand, shooting forward, and William doubles over.

"Wait, what?" Travis says.

There's another flash, twice, three times. William falls forward, clutching Carden's shoulders, and then slides to the floor. He lies there bonelessly, ghastly white, blood spreading out over his shirt front.

"What the fuck," Travis says.

Carden stares down at the floor. "Bill. Bill?"

"That's disgusting," Travis says.

"Bill," Carden says again. He kneels down, holding William's face in his hands; William's head lolls to the side. "Don't. Oh, don't, don't. What have I done?"

"You killed him," Travis says.

"Oh, God, what have I done to you?"

"You _killed_ him, are you deaf?" Travis says.

"What have I done," he repeats. He stands up, shaking and blood-splattered, "What have I done?"

"Look at him, he's a wreck," Travis says.

Carden shakes his head. He stares down at his hands, at the knife he's still holding. He stares and stares and then he's gone in a sudden blue flash of light.

"What?" Travis says. He goes and waves his hand through the air for a minute. "Not cool, dude. Not cool."

He turns around. William's gone too. The lights go out again.

"Trap door?" Travis says. "How'd they get out? What the fuck's happening?"

The lights come on again.

"Oh, fuck, no," Travis says.

William rushes into the room again, right past him. He starts searching through the table.

"You've got one minute to explain yourself," Travis says, stumbling over. "I'm gonna count."

"You can talk to me once you can speak like a human being, Carden. I want you _out_."

"Everything is what you want, you lying –"

"Why do I bother with you? You've always been a thug. Get the hell out."

"Show's over," Travis says as Carden knocks William onto the bed. "You just go to one side of the room, okay –"

"So were you amusing yourself? Were you? _Were_ you?"

William makes a run for it. Travis tries to grab Carden, but he's too quick; it's like tackling air.

"Don't you," and William's up against the wall again. "Bored little boy. So bored he needs to play around –"

William spits. Carden backhands him.

" _Enough_ ," Travis says. He shoves himself in between them, spreading his arms to try to hide William. Carden's eyes are vivid green and crazy-looking. "You can just get your fucking hands off him. You are in so much trouble, man."

"As if I ever cared at all. As if I ever _could_ -"

"Liar," he says, and Travis sees the blade coming towards him. He sees the impact more than feels it, at first, the hand holding the knife disappearing into his stomach, once, twice, three times. "Oh, fuck," Travis says, and drops the bottle.

He staggers away, clutching his stomach. It feels more like indigestion than an actual wound, but he's too scared to look down and see. He groans and clutches his hands around his shirt and then realizes he's not bleeding.

He opens his eyes and checks. There's not a scratch on him. He pokes his stomach. "Huh."

Carden's kneeling on the floor in amongst the broken glass and liquor, saying, "Don't, don't, don't," but he's talking to empty air, touching the space where William should have been. William's standing up, looking shocked, cautiously touching his stomach like it's new. He lifts his head and stares at Travis.

Carden says, "Oh, God, what have I done to you? What have I done?"

"What the fuck's happening?" Travis says. "Who are you?"

William looks from him to Carden, and back again. "I'm William. Beckett."

"What have I done?" Carden stands up. There's a flash of blue. The lights go out.

"This is one of Pete's tricks," Travis says. "Isn't it?"

"You saved me," William says.

"I got no fuckin' clue what's going on, man."

"I don't – I don't know how to thank you or anything."

"Uh, okay," Travis says. William's eyes are dark and sad, and it's like he can't stop looking at Travis. "I don't think I did anything."

"Thank you," he says softly. "Thank you."

"Oh, man," Travis says. William keeps looking at him, amazed. His hair is falling in his face. Travis reaches out and tries to brush it away, but all he feels is coolness on his fingertips. William's face begins to fade, like a photograph developing in reverse.

"Don't leave," Travis says. "You don't need to leave."

The pale face shimmers before him, trying to come back into focus. "Thank you," William says again, and he's gone.

Travis thinks he's going to pass out.

He staggers out of the room, because he's dealt with more than enough freaky shit for tonight, and tries to convince himself that he's having a nervous breakdown while he tries to find his room.

The room is dark when he gets in, but he recognizes Gabe snoring, and it's at least something familiar. "Gabe," he says. "Gabe, I've lost my mind. I saw a ghost. I saw a couple of them."

Gabe doesn't answer.

"Fuck," Travis says. "Gabe?"

Gabe snores in response.

"Yeah," Travis says. "Yeah, you're probably right."

He staggers into the bathroom. He turns on the tap, thinking that he's just drunk, he should have some water and then go pass out.

There's a shadow on the mirror, probably condensation or something. He goes to wipe it off and realizes that the shadow's actually _inside_ the mirror, and it looks like a face.

"Huh," Travis says and leans closer.

The shadow looks like William. It peers back at him, nervously biting its fingernails, and he should probably freak out right now, but he doesn't. Maybe because William's not really all that scary-looking.

"Hello, little ghost boy," Travis says.

William smiles. He shifts awkwardly from side to side. And then he actually _bows_ , one hand behind his back and the other extended out in a kind of curlicue movement. It's one of the most endearingly absurd gestures that Travis has ever seen, and he actually laughs out loud, grinning like an idiot at the mirror.

William grins back at him. And then he's gone again.

So Travis is pretty sure now that he's crazy.

He'll figure out how to handle that once he finishes passing out.

*****

Patrick knows he's going to have to go outside and see everyone off eventually. He's been sitting on the floor all night, staring at his discarded bandages on the floor (he knew he'd make a shitty mummy, he _knew it_ ), and he would give any-fucking-thing to just go burrow into the library with his computer for a while, because he can't fix this and it pisses him off.

Except he knows Pete spent last night getting absolutely paralytic and won't be fit for human contact for a while, and Joe probably packed and then spent the rest of the night stoned, which means it's left to him and Andy and Ashlee to see what may be the last guests to ever stay in the castle off. After that, he doesn't know.

"I'm furious," Greta says above him.

He looks up. Greta stopped bothering with the indications that she's about to materialize about two months after he met her — the other ghosts still tend to rustle the curtains or tap on the walls or something. She stands over him, resplendent in red, hair slipping out of its loose bun and brushing against her cheekbone.

"Morning, Greta," Patrick says.

"You know if they tear this place down, it'll be the end for us. This is our home too, Patrick."

"I _know_ that," Patrick says. "What do you think we were trying to do?"

"Make a mockery out of us, it looks like," Greta says. "Your _boss_ comes up with the dumbest plan ever, and –"

"Hey!" Patrick says. "He almost fucking killed himself trying to make this work, you know. If you all had bothered to actually act like real ghosts, this wouldn't happen. He put everything he had into –"

Greta's face softens. She comes over, the buckles on her Mary Janes sparkling, and drops down beside him. "Oh, Patrice. I forgot your soft spot. I'm sorry."

"You're _totally_ unfair," Patrick says, because he's not going to let her work her charms on him until she understands how hard Pete worked, how hard it's going to be for him, for all of them, to have to leave.

"Very unfair," she agrees. "You're right. I've been telling everyone that we need to do something for months, they won't listen to me. Just because I happened to die a little after they did, they think I don't know what's what."

"I don't know what to do," Patrick says. "I'm tryin' to think of something —"

She holds up a hand. "It's jake. They're all scared now. Took last night to make them realize we need to do something. Most of them. I still haven't managed to convince William that he needs to think practically for once, and I can't even _find_ Mike." She leans in conspiratorially. "One of your guests got between them last night."

"Oh, shit," Patrick says. "Did anything –"

"He's fine. Walked away with a stomachache. Of course, William's now positively goofy about him, so he's not going to listen to _my_ gloom and doom. He's wandering around talking about his 'sloe-eyed savior' to anyone who'll listen. You know how he is." She shrugs. "Pushover for any grand romantic gesture."

"Great," Patrick says. "A lovesick ghost. That's just what we need. They're leaving, and –"

"No, they're not," Greta says.

"What?"

"They want ghosts? We'll give them ghosts."

"It's too late," Patrick says. "They're gone."

She gives him a smile that says, _Little boy, you have no idea._

"Greta, what are you going to do?"

"It's already started," she says.

*****

Travis opens his eyes. He's lying on the bathmat. He's not sure if he's hungover or still drunk, or if he died sometime during the night and he's only realizing it now. Gabe comes into the bathroom and steps over him to get to the sink, brushing his teeth with singular focus.

Maybe he is dead. These days, Gabe never misses a chance to let him know how stupid he's been, and he's got a prime opportunity right now. Maybe he's gone invisible. He pushes himself off the floor, slowly, because everything hurts, and stands behind Gabe, waiting for some sign of recognition. He doesn't get it.

He reaches his hand out and waves it in front of Gabe's face. Gabe doesn't blink. He spits toothpaste into the sink.

Maybe he really is dead.

"As long as you can't see me," Travis says, "then I'm going to let you know something. You'd be fine if you weren't so goddamn scared of ever having a human emotion, but that's never going to happen. I've seen _toasters_ with more emotional range than you have." Gabe keeps brushing his teeth. It's the first chance that Travis has had to get the last word in for a while, so he continues. "Keep polishing those teeth, so you can chew someone else up and spit them out, like –"

Gabe whacks him on the head with the end of the toothbrush.

"Ow!"

"Goddamnit, Travis," Gabe says.

"I guess this means I'm not dead," Travis says.

"Don't make any long term plans," Gabe says. "You can pack your own shit up."

Travis rubs his head. Not dead. Not dead, okay. Still drunk, then.

"Look, Gabe –"

"Just get packed," Gabe says. He wipes the toothpaste off his mouth. "Or don't, I don't give a rat's ass." He turns away.

Travis adds the whole exchange to the list of stupid fights they've had, and turns on the sink.

*****

This has been the worst morning of Ashlee's life. She spent last night huddled under the covers in her room, alternately bawling her eyes out and trying to figure out a plan for what she's going to do next. The worst, the absolute worst case scenario is if she can't find another job or place to stay in Chicago and has to go back home, and she can't go back and face her father, she _can't_. Nonetheless, she gets up and does her best to be polite to the departing guests over a late breakfast of leftover lentil loaf, and then Patrick, looking grim and distracted, checks them out and sends them back to their rooms to get their suitcases together. She figures that Pete needs to know that they're going, in case he wants to make a last-ditch effort to keep them from leaving, or at least convince them that they don't need a refund.

It takes her a while, but then she opens the door to the office and finds Pete passed out on top of his desk. She shakes his shoulder.

"Pete. Peter, they're going. Do you want to say anything?"

He opens one bloodshot eye and stares at her. "No," he says, and closes the eye again. "No."

"I don't blame you," she says.

*****

 _Some vacation,_ Gabe thinks, standing in the empty hotel lobby waiting for his boss' secretary to take him off hold. His boyfriend hates him. The hotel staff hate him. For all he knows, he pissed the other guests off too and _they_ hate him. Whatever, he doesn't care anyway.

The secretary asks to take a message, even though his boss is totally standing right there; Gabe heard him say, "Tell him to leave a message. A detailed message."

"The place is kind of a wreck," Gabe says. "I'm cutting the vacation short, I'm not spending the weekend here. I'll have the report in on Tuesday –"

The secretary says, "He's cutting the vacation short," and his asshole boss says, "He can't do that, we need more information. Tell him that he's staying." The secretary comes back on and says, sounding as shitty as Gabe feels, "You can't use less than your requested vacation time."

"I don't _care_!" Gabe says. "Does he fuckin' understand what's going on?"

His asshole boss says, "Tell him he needs to get his priorities in order."

"I don't _need_ to get my priorities in order!" Gabe says. "My boyfriend slept on the floor last night, okay, and he told me he was dead this morning. I can't deal with this kind of _tsuris_ right now, I'm fucking _tired_. I'm tired."

"Then I think what you need is to use the rest of your requested vacation time and stay in Chicago," his asshole boss says, finally deigning to speak to him directly. "I expect a full report when you get back." And then he hangs up.

Gabe stares at the receiver. When the fuck did his life turn into this? He's sure he had fun at some point, he must have, and he didn't use to spend his life either having stupid fights, because anger is pretty much the only thing he trusts himself with these days, or zonking himself out so he wouldn't feel like shit all the time. Goddamnit, what _happened_ to him?

He must have actually sat down on the floor at some point, because the next thing he knows is someone's touching his shoulder and saying, "Mr. Saporta?"

Gabe picks his head up from between his knees and sees one of the Way brothers, Mikey, he thinks, peering at him concernedly. "Hey, you okay? Can I help?"

"I have all the emotional range of a fuckin' toaster," Gabe says.

Mikey thrusts his hands under Gabe's armpits and hauls him up. "Who's been telling you that you're a toaster?"

Mikey Way has the most solemn little face. Gabe thinks, _Fuck you, Travis, I so totally have emotional range. I could totally kiss some dude right now and I bet he'd_ love it, _that's how much passion I have_.

He grabs the back of Mikey's head and kisses him on the mouth, hard, and Mikey says, "Mmmph," and staggers against him, _swooning_ against him, like a Victorian maiden, Gabe thinks.

Then he realizes that Travis is still dragging his ass back in the room and he can't even see Gabe making a point right now.

Gabe pushes Mikey Way off of him, and says, "Dude, what the _fuck_? Keep your hands to yourself, okay?" He grabs his suitcase and hustles out the door to the van. Mikey follows, looking bewildered and saying, "Um, I'm pretty sure that was inappropriate."

*****

Travis staggers down the hallway with his suitcase. The hangover is starting to kick in, and he's so not in the mood to face hours waiting in O'Hare for a two hour flight back home. Plus he doesn't really know how they're going to keep this place going, and it kind of sucks that they couldn't spend the whole weekend here and enjoy it while it lasted.

He doesn't see the person in the alcove until he's almost all the way down the hall. He's looking out of the window, knee raised and chin resting in his hand, a little theatrical, a little 'the brooding artist studies his surroundings,' and then he looks up and grins, and holy fuck, Travis thought that was a dream.

William gets up, tugging at his shirt and smoothing his hair, and Travis drops his suitcase.

"You're here," Travis says. "Well, not really. You're a real fucking ghost."

"I – I suppose," William says. "I never learned your name."

"Travis," he says. William almost looks normal up close, even with the weird clothes, but not quite. He's too pale, for one thing, and there's something sort of unfocused about him, like a Hollywood actress shot through a soft-focus lens. Travis puts his hand out and tries to touch William's shoulder, but it just feels like he stuck his fingers in a cold draft. "It's Travis."

"Travis," William says, and smiles. "Thank you, Travis."

"No problem," Travis says. "What'd I do?"

William blinks. "You – you, uh –" He pauses. Travis has a feeling that he had a whole long speech planned out, and Travis made him lose his place. He licks his lips and clears his throat, starting over. "Last night you gave me the first peace I've had for what seems like eternity. I'll give you my gratitude forever."

"Oh," Travis says. "Oh. Okay. Uh. Eternity, seriously?"

"It feels like such," William says. "More? Less? I've never had much sense of time."

"Yeah, me neither," Travis says. William sits back down by the window, patting the seat next to him. Travis takes a couple steps forward before he remembers that he's meant to be leaving.

"What?" William says. "What is it?"

 _This is nuts_ , Travis thinks. Somehow he thinks that no one's going to accept "I was just having a friendly conversation with a ghost" as an explanation of why he's running late.

He's probably used shittier excuses than that in the past, though. Fuck it.

"Nothing," Travis says, and goes to sit down. "You know you've got a painting of yourself down in the dining room?"

William makes a face. "That was my mother's idea when I turned eighteen. She commissioned this — I don't know what — this _hermit_ to do it. It doesn't even look like me."

"I used to just get an ice cream cake for my birthday," Travis says. "Damn, you got fancy."

William blushes. He tugs at his hair and says, "It – it wasn't as if it happened often. She was being kind. I –" He looks at the floor.

"I just fucked up your plan to impress me, I think," Travis says.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," William says, but he glances up through his hair, half-smiling. He smiles with his eyes, too, it looks like; they crinkle at the corners.

"It's a nice painting, anyway," Travis says, even though he kind of likes being smiled at and doesn't want to say anything that would interrupt it, but he has a way of letting his mouth run away from his brain. "Maybe needs some upkeep. Re-varnishing, something like that. Get the colors back."

William tilts his head, like he's giving the matter very serious consideration. Travis says, "You might not think so, but it actually does look sort of like you. Mostly around the eyes. The eyes are real nice."

For a second, he's not sure if William's going to protest or if he's just going to look flattered. He hunches his shoulders and chews on the ball of his thumb for a second.

"What're you doing now?"

"I'm attempting – I know I must not be a sparkling conversationalist. I've — it's been — I haven't much chance to practice."

"So you're trying your lines out on me?" Travis says. "I don't know, William, I've kind of heard them all by this point."

"Oh, _no_ ," William says. There's something kind of funny about the way he thinks Travis is serious. "I only — I have too much to say and it's not good enough yet."

"Good enough for what?"

William mumbles something at the floor.

"I don't need to be impressed," Travis says. "I mean, I'm talking to a piece of artwork."

"No, just a ghost. The artwork is…just there."

"Oh," Travis says. "I guess that's different."

William shrugs. "It was embarrassing, but I suppose that I ought to be grateful. He had me sit in the library. I'm very fond of the library. I should show you where — it doesn't look exactly the same now, of course. "

"A house tour?" Travis says. "Okay, I can go with that. Think you can walk backwards? It'll give it the authentic touch."

William actually giggles, and he's always been a sucker for anyone laughing at his jokes, however lame, and before he can even start thinking, _Watch yourself, Travie_ , he's trying to think if there's anything else he can tease him about.

Except then he hears a horn go off somewhere down in the courtyard and he realizes that he's meant to be heading out.

"Shit," Travis says. He pushes himself up. "I gotta go."

"What?"

"I'm — I live in New York. I'm kind of meant to be going to the airport right now. I can't –"

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah," Travis mutters.

William starts to bite his nails. "But – but it hasn't even been a day, has it? You could surely spend one day here."

The horn goes off again. "I would if I could," Travis says. "I just — I got some shit to fix in my life, you know?"

"I d-didn't know," William says. "I should have." He stops biting his nails and stares at them.

"I don't want to go, either," Travis says. "But I don't think there's much I can do about it. William, no, c'mon," as William's chin starts to wobble alarmingly, "seriously, it'll be okay."

"You're going to forget me," William says.

"Oh, there's no fuckin' chance of that," Travis says, trying to make him laugh. "Believe me, unless, I don't know, unless I sustain some kind of major head injury, this is never going away."

William doesn't laugh. He wraps his arms around himself, avoiding Travis' eyes.

"Oh, don't do _that_ ," Travis says. "William, I'm kind of an annoying motherfucker a lot of the time, you know?"

"Everyone leaves," William says. "They leave and they never come back."

"William," he says, putting out his hands, but William jerks away from him and then disappears completely.

"Fuck," Travis says, and the horn goes off in the courtyard again. "Oh, shut up." He drags himself back to his suitcase.

The hotel feels colder and draftier than ever when he picks the suitcase up. He says, "Sorry about this," and doesn't know who or what he's talking to.

There's a puff of green somewhere to his left, and a kind of burnt match smell floating in the air. Somewhere above his head, Travis thinks he hears a woman laughing.

It only lasts for a second, and then the roaring starts up. It sounds like windstorms from when he was a kid, window pane-rattling storms, but from what he can see, the windows are shut and there's no wind coming in. It seems to be coming from nowhere. He freezes in place, thinking _What the fuck is this_? and then he gets a gust of wind that smells of dust and unwashed laundry right in the face. He chokes and throws his arms up, but he's already off balance and being blown down the hall. He loses hold of his suitcase and it goes shooting against the wall, breaking open and spewing his boxers and shirts everywhere.

He has a sudden moment of lucidity while he's trying to keep from being blown against the wall and thinks, _I better get outside_ , because his reasoning is that if there's a fucking hurricane going on _inside_ the hotel, then it might be better to get to a place where there isn't one. He grabs onto the wall and inches himself forward, howling wind in his face and shoving him backwards. When he manages to get to the stairs, the fucking thing actually changes direction on him and he has to grab onto the banister to keep from taking a header down them. There's a sickening moment when he actually feels himself lifting off the ground and sees his feet floating up, and he damn near splinters the wood on the railing hanging on.

He uses the banister like a ladder and climbs down to the lobby. The chandelier above the desk is swaying and tinkling dangerously, and he thinks, _Getting to the door, that's all I'm doing. Getting to the door and I'll be golden._ There's a sudden rush that sends him somersaulting through the lobby.

He makes it to the front doors, covered in dust and his hair in his face. The wind seems to let up, and he hangs onto the handle and gasps for breath. Through the glass, he can see Ashlee and Andy and Patrick turning to look at him curiously, and Patrick mouths something like, _Oh, Jesus Christ_ , but he can't really open the door to ask what the deal is, because the wind seems to be picking up again.

This time around, it seems to be outside as well as inside; Ashlee's hair shoots straight up like the Bride of Frankenstein and Patrick grabs onto his hat for dear life. So maybe trying to get outside was a stupid idea after all.

Before he can come up with an alternate plan of action, he hears this noise behind him, some unholy behemoth sucking its breath in, and then a gigantic raspberry of an exhale. The door flies open and Travis goes shooting out on a stream of foul-smelling air, howling indignation to no avail. He shoots over their heads, over the van, and then he doesn't know where else because he shuts his eyes and prays to God that he doesn't wind up going through the ozone layer or something.

His shirt catches on something pointy. He groans and covers his face with his hands, but whatever it is seems bored with him now, because all of a sudden he's being plunked down with little ceremony in what feels like a tree. He cracks an eye open. His shirt and pants are snagged on a bunch of branches. There are dead leaves falling on his face. He's twenty feet off the ground and has no idea how to get unstuck.

Motherfucker.

*****

The hotel staff keep giving him dirty looks. Gabe slouches down in the van's passenger seat and tries to avoid making direct eye contact. When he walked out of the hotel, they all turned their heads away with a universal, almost audible "Hmph!" and the more time they spend waiting for fucking Travis to come out and get in the van, the more hostile they get. The little dude with the tattoos looks about two seconds away from going Neanderthal. Considering the mood Gabe's in, he's more than prepared to fight if anyone tries to start some shit, but he's also probably done more than enough damage already. He wishes Travis would hurry his ass up.

"Honk the horn," he says to Joe.

"I just honked the horn," Joe says. He's keeping the dirty looks to a minimum, which Gabe chalks up to him just not having the energy. Joe looks as if he's only keeping himself from sliding down under the steering wheel by sheer force of will.

"Honk it again," Gabe says out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sure he's on his way."

"Just honk the goddamn horn."

Joe half-heartedly acquiesces. Gabe shoves himself down in the passenger seat and pulls his hat over his eyes.

"When did the weather turn shitty?" Alicia asks from the back seat. Gabe takes a look out the window. The trees beyond the castle are swaying back and forth, and the sky's turned an interesting shade of dark blue. The staff stop glaring at him for a second and start pulling their coats and hats closer around themselves, huddling under the mangled awning.

"Chicago weather, dude," Joe says resignedly, and then Travis goes flying past the windshield, yelling his head off.

"I think a man just flew over the car," Mikey says.

Two seconds later there's a screeching sound of a thousand nuts and bolts giving way, and the doors come off the van, shooting off into the atmosphere. The staff dive for cover.

The cold air comes rushing into the van. It smells like exhaust and burnt leaves. "Holy shit," Mikey says, and then the entire front of the van comes off, rising up into the air and spinning in its own personal cyclone, spewing smoke everywhere.

"Maybe it's not a good idea to be sitting here," Joe says. The roof of the van comes off, and the luggage goes with it. The suitcases burst open and blanket the ground in shirts and pants and underwear.

And then the rain starts, needle-sharp and icy. Joe throws his arms over his head. Gerard waves his hands like he's the Wicked Witch of the West about to melt.

"Oh, what the fuck _next_?" Gabe says.

He probably shouldn't have said anything, because the wind comes back, a very powerful, localized wind rushing around the stripped van, and all of a sudden Gabe's hat and shirt and pants are popping buttons and splitting at the seams and flying into the air, along with the other car detritus and everyone else's clothes. Lindsey apparently doesn't believe in wearing bras.

"Get inside!" one of the hotel staff, the one with the hat, is yelling. "Jesus fuck, come on!"

Gabe jumps out of the car. The gravel driveway crunches under his sneakers, which somehow managed to stay on, and the rain is sticking him with little pinpricks on the back. Lindsey and Alicia are already dashing for the door, Alicia's eyeliner streaming down her face. The guy with the hat (how'd he manage to keep that on, anyway?) throws his coat over Lindsey as she passes by.

Gabe runs for the door. He's never getting out of this fucking place.

*****

Pete only gets up because the roof starts leaking on his head. He looks up at the roof (fucking roof, fucking holes, fucking things that he's too fucked up to fix) and a big drop of water hits him in the eye.

"Yeah," Pete says. "It's like that." He crawls under the desk. Maybe he'll come out when the repo men come for him, and maybe he won't.

"Peter," Ashlee says wildly. "Peter!"

"What?" Pete says.

"The van blew apart and then it started raining and now they're all back. Patrick's getting towels. And I think the roof's leaking again."

He starts to peek out at her, but Ashlee just thrusts her hands under the desk and hauls him up. "They're back. They still might stay, if the storm keeps going on."

"Um, what?" Pete says.

"They're back. You need to go talk to them. Now."

"Okay," Pete says. He has no idea what he's going to do, but he heard "they may be staying," and he's going to run with it.

He suddenly feels a surge of violent gratitude towards Ashlee for knowing when to kick his ass into gear. He pushes her wet hair out of her face and kisses her, hard, clinging to her shoulders. When he pulls away she's smiling. He says, "Razzle-dazzle, Ash."

"Razzle-dazzle."

*****

Andy, who has no fear of nature, goes out to try to save everyone's clothes from the storm. Joe has to make a mad dash up to his room and actually find clothing, but he goes to help once he's managed to hide his shame.

Pete comes striding out into the lobby, hoping that his game face is on. The guests are huddled in the center of the lobby in various states of undress. Gerard looks like he grabbed the first thing that was remotely clothing-like, so he's in his shorts and the top half of Andy's suit of armor. Lindsey is wearing Patrick's coat. Alicia is wearing Andy's. Mikey is wearing the rug from the floor. Gabe, still in his underwear and shivering, is curled up on one of the chairs, legs to his chest.

"Ran into a little weather, huh?" Pete says. "The fuckin' lake effect, dude, it's goddamn temperamental."

Gerard says, with deadly, icy calm, "Everyone's cell phones are somewhere in the mud. Call a fucking cab. Now."

"Okay," Pete says, and goes over to the reception desk. It would probably be better to save the speech until they all dry out and calm down a little. He picks up the phone. There's no dial tone. He jiggles the receiver. Still nothing.

"You're not going to like this," Pete says. "Phone's out. Like I said, temperamental lake effect." Patrick appears at the top of the stairs, laden down with towels and blankets. Pete says, "Why don't you all just get dried off, we'll get your stuff all clean —"

Gerard clanks over to the phone and tries it, then puts the receiver down. "I'm going to tell you, I'm about ready to walk back to town in this suit of armor right now."

"You're going to walk down the road in a goddamn metal suit in the middle of a thunderstorm?" Pete says. "Dude, I've pulled some stunts, but that pretty much takes death wish to a new level."

Gerard looks like he hadn't thought about that particular possibility. He scuffs his foot on the carpet and frowns, caught between his principles and his need to avoid being fried to a crisp.

"Okay," Pete says, deciding to push the advantage. "Listen, Andy and Joe are trying to get your clothes together –"

" _Keep the little one away from my stuff_ ," Lindsey says.

"Oh, it's cool, Joe's got a taser," Pete says. "Look, just sit down, Patrick's got towels, because he thinks about those things -"

"I wish I'd thought of a way to get them all down the stairs," Patrick says muffledly, tiptoeing down the steps.

"We'll talk about your heading out when it doesn't look like the seven plagues of Egypt out there."

"Look," Gerard says, still not willing to concede. "I actually am sorry about the hotel. Really, I am. You just can't make a mockery of the spirit world, you know?"

"Believe me, I know that one now," Pete says. "Lesson learned. Just take the armor off, get a towel. Wait until the storm clears up and we'll talk about what to do then."

"Let me just take a look," Gerard says. "Maybe it's clearing up."

"I wouldn't _do that_ if I were you," Patrick says sharply, but Gerard's already opening the doors and peering outside. "Seriously, _don't_."

Gerard turns his head, and there's a huge crack of thunder that rattles the room. The lights flicker. There's a thin jagged line of yellow light shooting around the doorframe, and then Gerard is flying through the air and sliding to the ground, sparks coming off the ends of his hair.

" _Gerard_!" Lindsey jumps up, Patrick's coat flapping open. Mikey's already halfway across the room, saying, "Gee?"

"I told him not to do that," Patrick mutters.

Gerard says faintly, "I think we can stay a little while longer."

*****

Travis has lost track of how long he's been stuck up here. Once he stopped freaking out and thinking _Oh my God I'm gonna die_ , he had a lot more opportunity to let his hangover hang out and do its thing, and now he's not only stuck but achy and nauseated. He's just about had it.

If he turns his head very carefully, he can see the castle off in the distance. It doesn't look good; there are dark clouds all around it and occasional flashes of lightning. It looks like a localized storm; actually, it's rather nicely autumnal where he is.

As he's very carefully turning his head, he sees something huddled on the ground a few feet away from the tree. He's not wearing his glasses and so he thinks that it's just some old clothes at first, but then he hears sobbing and realizes that it's a person. Or sort of a person, anyway; he recognizes William's hair, the dark brown head buried in long skinny arms.

Travis wonders if he should call out. He knows he's got to look kind of stupid right now, and he sort of doesn't want William to see him like this, but he's also feeling pretty sick and he doesn't know how much longer this tree can hold his lanky ass up. He says, barely audible, "Help."

The William-pile doesn't move. Travis says, a little louder, "Um, William?"

William stops sobbing and picks his head up, looking around wildly. " _Travis?_ "

"Hi," Travis says. "Up here."

William picks himself off the ground, brushing the back of his hand across his face in a studiedly casual what-I-totally-wasn't-crying gesture. "I thought you were leaving. I thought you left."

"I was leaving. Now I'm in a tree," he says. "Um. Help?"

"Oh. Yes, yes, of course. One moment." William comes to the bottom of the tree. Travis expects him to come floating up or something, but he just raises his hands. Travis feels something _pluck_ him off the branches and swing him up, legs waving in midair, and he's still feeling a little shell-shocked, so he lets out an embarrassingly unmanly squawk.

"Shh, you're all right," William says, and Travis feels himself being lain down on the ground. It's a relief to feel himself back on earth again, but his stomach is roiling worse than ever, so he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through his nose to try to avoid projectile puking all over the place.

"You've got little leaves in your hair," William says. Travis hears something crunching. He opens his eyes when he's pretty sure he's not going to throw up. William is kneeling down, very seriously picking leaves off of him. It feels kind of weird. William's not really even touching him; he's just leaning over and the leaves in Travis' hair are floating up into his fingers.

"How'd you get yourself into this predicament?" William asks.

"Some kind of wind," Travis says. "Don't know where it came from."

William frowns and then leans back on his heels. "Oh. That's what Greta meant, then. Oh, dear."

"Who's Greta?"

"She lives in the castle. I suppose you haven't met her yet?"

"Another ghost," Travis says. William nods. "So it's not just you and, uh…"

"Mike," William says. "No. There's a number of us around. And the things around us, of course."

Something about the way he says things gives Travis the creeps. "Things? Like, vampires, werewolves, like that?"

William frowns and considers. "No. Just…They stay in the damp most of the time. Little half-born things. Nasties."

"This is getting more psychotic by the second," Travis says.

"I suppose I've grown accustomed to it."

"I guess you would be," Travis says. He pushes himself up and leans against the tree trunk. "How long have you been here, anyway?"

William shrugs helplessly. "Every day has been the same for me for a very long time. I haven't…"

Travis shifts over. After a minute, William slides next to him. "What happened to you, William?"

"I was nineteen when I met Mike," William says. "I'd see him across the room at one pub or another. I loathed him. He loathed me. I sometimes think it would have been best for us to continue on like that."

"But it didn't."

William glances at the ground, pushing his hair behind his ear. "We…We found out that we understood each other, somewhat. I thought we'd…We were tempestuous. We were star-crossed. We were – drunk, most of the time."

"I know the feeling."

"He always told me that I wanted too much from him, from everything, really. One night, we — he says I began the argument, and I say he did — but we fought, and we'd drunk too much that night to bother about not hurting each other. I didn't know about the knife. He says he didn't either. You know the rest of the story."

"And that's it? You don't — are you trying to tell me that you fuckin' get killed every night?"

"We drink, we fight, we die," William says. "Every goddamned night. If I have to die one more time I think I'm going to scream."

"Jesus," Travis says. "Can you stop it? I mean, is it just a fuckin' Moebius kind of thing, or what?"

"You stopped it," William says quietly. "When you got between us. I don't know if it will last."

"I don't even know how that's supposed to work. Saving a ghost from getting killed by another ghost. It doesn't make a lot of fuckin' sense."

"It doesn't make sense. It never has." William looks down. "When I was younger, I thought I wanted to die like Byron. Let the world know who I was, what I believed in, so I wouldn't mind being dead. And now…I just wish I'd cared more about living." He rests his chin on top of his knee.

Travis puts his hand out, trying to rest it on William's shoulder, but it passes right through. William shrugs apologetically at him.

"I had romantic notions," William says. "Perhaps I still do. I don't know. We all want what we can't have, I think."

"I don't," Travis says, but then he thinks about it and realizes, _Yeah, that's a fucking lie._

"What do you want?" William asks. "I'm tired of talking about myself. Please tell me."

"Hearts and flowers Hallmark bullshit," Travis says.

William's smile is puzzled but he's playing along anyway. "Oh. Oh, yes."

"Do you know what Hallmark is?"

"…No," William says, and Travis laughs. "Well, I don't get a chance to travel much."

"I'd like…" It's been a while since anyone's asked him this, or seemed to care. Travis says, "Just someone to be in love with me, I guess. Someone I can be in love with."

"Really?"

"Hey, don't let the tattoos tell you different. I want the whole picket fence, popcorn on the couch, snuggling under the covers deal. Little things, you know?"

"Oh," William says, sounding awestruck. "And you really have that?"

Travis shrugs.

"Travis."

"I don't know," he says. "I'm not sure what I have."

"Are you…happy with it?"

"No," Travis says. "Neither is he."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, what are you gonna do," Travis says. "Not everything's meant to be perfect."

William frowns and drums his fingers on his knees. He glances up to meet Travis' eyes and quickly leans over, touching his lips to the side of Travis' head. It just feels like cool sea breeze in his hair.

"Was that a kiss?" Travis says.

"An approximation of one," William says. "I – I know that I shouldn't –"

"An approximation of a kiss," Travis says. "What'd I do to deserve an approximation of a kiss?"

"Nothing in particular," William says.

Travis looks at him. William's face is still swollen and a little blotchy, and his eyes are red. He looks like he needs something himself, and Travis can't even touch him. It's probably the shittiest substitute in the world, but Travis picks up one of the dead leaves on the ground and pokes it at him, twirling it in his fingers until it breaks apart. William watches Travis' hands.

"I should let you go," William says softly.

"Is that what you really want?"

William looks like he's about to say something, but instead he just shakes his head. There are things Travis could say, important things like _I have no idea how this is going to work_ , but what he actually says is, "I don't need to go just yet."

*****

Gabe manages to get back to the room. Travis' clothes are spread all over the place, hanging off lamps and chairs and tables, and he picks up what he can reach, because why the hell not? Travis can pick the rest of his shit up when he gets back.

He gets in the shower when he's back in the room. The way things are going, he's going to be stuck here forever, so he might as well kill some time. He's still freezing from the rain and his underwear is sopping wet.

He stares at the tiles and tries not to think about much of anything. Over the hissing shower, he hears a tapping on the floor.

"Trav?" he calls. "You back? What the fuck happened to you, anyway?" Travis doesn't answer. "Well, I'm still pissed at you, too, so don't even bother with the silent treatment. I'm not talking to you either. What the fuck's wrong with you, anyway? 'Chew you up and spit you out?' When the fuck have I ever done anything like that — Travis, I am _not_ having another fight right now, okay? I feel like shit. Don't just fuckin' stand there, talk to me."

Travis still doesn't say anything. Gabe resists the urge to bang his head on the tiles. "Trav, goddamnit. I don't know what's wrong with me, either, okay? It's not like I can just fix it, you know? Would you just, please –" He turns his head.

The shadow standing outside the shower curtain is way too short to be Travis. Gabe says, "What the _fuck_?" and whips the curtain open. There's a dark-haired guy standing in the middle of the floor, awkwardly playing with his shirt cuffs.

"Dude, how'd you get in?" Gabe says. The water from the shower is splashing out over the floor. The guy opens his mouth, closes it again. He rubs at the back of his neck, studiously avoiding looking at Gabe.

"How long have you been there, you fucking perv?" Gabe says. He stands with his hands on his hips, too pissed to grab a towel. The dark-haired guy looks like he has no idea what to do. "Fuckin' stop it with that," Gabe says. He's pretty sure he could take this guy if it comes down to it; he's a good six inches taller and he has no qualms about using this guy's embarrassment to his advantage. "You want to bust in on people? Go on, take a fucking picture, it'll last longer."

The dark-haired guy raises round green eyes to his. Then he drops them again, quickly, but not quickly enough; Gabe sees the appreciative glance, the blush. "Pervert," Gabe says again. "Who are you anyway?"

The guy disappears. He doesn't walk out, he's just gone, and Gabe is blinking at empty space.

Of course, Travis picks that exact moment to walk in. "Gabe, I –"

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?" Gabe says.

"Are you just hanging out naked in here? Dude, you're flooding the place."

Gabe turns the shower off. He grabs a towel. "There was a fucking man in here! Little dark-haired dude, dressed like Charles Dickens, just hanging out in here, and -"

"Oh, that must have been Mike," Travis says. "Look, Gabe, I wound up in the orchard or something –"

" _Who the fuck is Mike_?"

"He lives here. He's a ghost."

"Fuck you."

"No, he's a ghost. He and William — that's the other ghost, the one I was in the orchard with — they've been here for like a hundred years, and William keeps getting killed every night –"

"You're getting the fuck out until you can make sense," Gabe says. "Right now. Out."

"Gabe, I need to tell you –"

"Out, goddamnit. I'm not listening. Out."

"It makes more sense if you'll just let me –"

Gabe shoves him out the door and slams it shut.

"You've gotta talk to me sometime, Gabe," Travis shouts from the other side.

"Missed your chance," Gabe says, and locks the door.

*****

Gerard is lying on his back on the bed. He managed to get out of the suit of armor with a minimum of difficulty, as it pretty much crumbled off of him when he touched it. The hotel room smells like a mixture of burnt rubber and car exhaust, which, truth be told, is kind of an improvement on how Gerard usually smells. Lindsey and Alicia had been all for whisking him off to the emergency room, but that plan was doomed from the start, since the van is currently in pieces on the front lawn, the hotel phones are still out, and everyone's cell phones are either lost or unusable. They both stand over the bed, checking for any signs of incipient hemorrhaging.

Mikey has experience with pretty much all the dumb things that have ever happened to Gerard, and getting thrown across the room by a stray lightning bolt isn't even in the top ten. He's gotten so that he knows by the way Gerard lights a cigarette or moves his head if he should worry or not. This isn't one of those times. Gerard is, for the most part, thoroughly unconcerned with what happened to him. He's spent the last twenty minutes trying to form a hypothesis about why it happened, but the rest is incidental.

"Lightning strikes are random, that's the thing," he says. "Even if you're like carrying a rod or something, you don't just walk out and immediately get struck. The one thing about this is that it wasn't random. It was like fucking Thor just tossed a lightning bolt –"

"Wasn't Thor the thunderbolt guy, though?" Mikey says. "With the hammer?"

"The hammer _threw_ lightning bolts. He was the god of thunder. He maybe should have been the god of thunder and lightning, considering — hey, Mikey, remember that comics pack you got a couple years ago? Why do you think Marvel fuckin' bothered to give Thor a secret identity? That's a bullshit backstory."

"Total bullshit," Mikey agrees. "Gods don't _need_ secret identities. They're gods, they can do what they want."

"Fuckin' Marvel," Gerard says. "Total hack work. _Ultimate Thor_ , my ass. I can't believe you ever brought that fuckin' thing into the house."

"It was a gift, dude."

"By someone who _hated_ you, maybe."

Over the bed, Alicia and Lindsey exchange the glance of how-the-fuck-did-we-wind-up-in-this-family. Over by the window, the oscillator starts to bleep, vibrating on the table.

"What the fuck?" Gerard says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Little sparks of static electricity shoot out from under his feet.

"What?" Lindsey says. "What is it?"

"Nobody move," Gerard says. He makes his way over to the oscillator and grabs it, hissing and shaking his hand at the shock. "The readings are going fucking nuts all of a sudden."

"Like, nuts how?" Alicia says. "Didn't you say some variation was normal to –"

"Not like this. Something's going on," Gerard says. "Everybody just stay here, okay? I gotta check this out."

"Gerard, please," Lindsey says. "You already almost — can you not think about work for one second, babe?"

Gerard just stares at the oscillator, already heading for the door. "If this is what I think it is, Lin, then something's very wrong here."

*****

Travis wanders through the hallway, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do. He's known that he and Gabe were crashing for a while. He's spent nights imagining what exactly their final fight would be, one huge thermonuclear explosion that would allow them both to get out and away from each other. This isn't the way he thought it would go.

He still owes Gabe something, some explanation, something that would let him move on, but somehow he doesn't think that telling him _I can't go back to New York because I need to stay here and get to know a little ghost boy better_ is going to be the one that does that.

Gabe sort of thinks he's crazy right now. Maybe he should go with that. Persuade Gabe that he's completely fucking gone, not suitable for society, and staying with him would be too much trouble and stress on top of what Gabe's already got to deal with.

Except then he remembers that Gabe _likes_ crazy, and it might make him hang onto Travis just that much tighter.

"You know it's just going to get worse the more you draw it out," someone says.

Travis looks up. He's standing in front of an open door; inside the room, Patrick looks out from under his hat, frowning slightly at him.

"Fuck, I know that," Travis says. "I'd just like to do things right this time."

"William's a good kid," Patrick says. "I'd kind of like it if he doesn't get hurt."

"I don't want to hurt anybody," Travis says. "My love them and leave them days are behind me — wait, hold up." He's just realized what Patrick was saying. "You know about this?"

Patrick looks surprised. "I've known him for years."

"So you know about the ghosts."

"Well, yeah," Patrick says, like that should be entirely obvious.

"Dude," Travis says.

"To be honest, I'm glad someone here sees them too," Patrick says. "I mean, Pete kind of tries to humor me, but mostly people just think I'm nuts. Look, want to come and sit down for a while? I've got coffee."

"Yeah, okay," Travis says.

The room is filled with old books, lining all of the walls except for one, which just has a huge window, framed by thick red curtains, overlooking the orchard. Patrick snaps his laptop shut when Travis enters, going to the table and offering coffee.

"What are you going to do?" Patrick says.

"I don't know," Travis says. "I like him. He's a weird little motherfucker, but I like him. Figures I'd fucking set myself up to fail."

"Huh?"

"He's a fuckin' _ghost_ ," Travis says. "I can't even touch him. It's got failure written all over it."

"You figure it out," Patrick says. "I mean, it's different, but if you care about someone — do you care?"

He wants to say, _I shouldn't_. Because it's true, but he doesn't know how he can change things now. Maybe if he hadn't gotten drunk and wandered into the wrong room. Maybe if he had more willpower. Maybe if William's eyes hadn't been so sad. "I think I do."

"Kind of complicates things," Patrick says, sounding weary.

"Dammit," Travis says.

"You've got to tell both of them," Patrick says. "Get it all out of the way."

"That'll work," Travis says. "One seven year relationship down the shitter and one dead guy I can't touch. I never pictured life turning out this way."

"Well, why would you?"

"I don't know," Travis says. "I don't know if I'm cut out for this, you know?"

"Well, that's kind of how it works," Patrick says. "You don't know how you'll handle anything until it happens."

"I haven't taken a lot of risks lately," Travis says. "I've just been kind of…waiting."

"For what?"

"For something to change," Travis says. "I guess…this is it, right?"

Patrick's face softens. "Yeah. I think this is it."

"Figures that he'd be a ghost. Fuckin' _typical_."

"Well, you've got tomorrow. And the ghost thing."

"There's another ghost thing I don't know about?"

"Hell, I don't know. It's this _thing_ they can do. It's like – well, it feels pretty fuckin' dirty, I gotta tell you."

Travis blinks at him. "Are you talking about ghost fucking?"

"Not fucking, exactly. It's — hmm." Patrick adjusts his hat. After a minute, he smiles and bumps Travis with his shoulder. "Ask William about it."

"Ask about the ghost fucking. Okay." Travis looks at the coffee. As long as they're having this discussion, he might as well see what comes next. "And what's so special about tomorrow?"

"Halloween," Patrick prompts.

"Oh," Travis says. "Oh, that."

"It's a big deal for them. It's the one time of the year when they get to come back."

"Come back from – where?"

"Well, come back to life, of course," Patrick says. "For one night."

"Shit," Travis says. "You mean all those years I spent trick or treating as a kid, I could have been wandering around with ghosts and I didn't even _know_ it?"

"Well, I don't know if they were actually giving you candy or anything, but you never know."

"So they're all coming back? William says there's a whole bunch of them hanging out here. They're all –"

"You never know."

"Great."

"Listen," Patrick says. "Just be careful, all right? I mean, they might look like everybody else, but they're not. They're still dead. Just — be careful. Don't go too far."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I –" Patrick looks over Travis' shoulder. "Hey, hey, man, could you pass me the thing? Thanks."

One of the books on the shelves shudders, falls out, floats across the room into Patrick's waiting hands. Patrick hands it to Travis with a smile. The book is heavy, bound in red leather. The front cover reads _Book of The Spirits_ in old-fashioned, ornate lettering.

"You're one peculiar little dude," Travis tells Patrick.

Patrick shrugs noncommittally. "Just read it, okay?"

*****

Gerard's been gone for half an hour. Mikey and Alicia are trying to watch TV while Lindsey chain-smokes, her irritation growing with each flick of the cigarette.

"Come sit down," Alicia says. "He'll come back when he's found whatever it is he's looking for."

"I don't _mind_ him trying to save the fuckin' world," Lindsey says. "I just wish he'd think about little things like personal fuckin' safety once in a while."

"He's always okay," Mikey says. "He knows what he's doing."

"Mikey, you always say that," Lindsey says. "I don't like him wandering around alone out there."

A head pops out of the center of the carpet. It's a lady's head, long dark hair piled on top of her head and thick-lashed eyes. She looks around at them.

"Fuck," Mikey says, scrambling to the edge of the bed. Lindsey's ash drops onto the floor.

"Uh," the head says. "Uh."

"Be more spooky," someone else, a man, says. The voice seems to be coming from the ceiling.

"I'm doing my best," the head says. She looks at Lindsey. "Uh – I like your shoes?"

"Jeez Louise, Victoria," the voice says, and then a tall, brown-haired guy in a black turtleneck and glasses is floating down from the ceiling. "You can't scare anyone by complimenting their footwear."

"I don't see you trying, _Alex_ ," the head says, and hauls herself out of the carpet. She's tall and long-legged, sleek in black.

The tall guy, Alex, looks around at all of them. Lindsey and Mikey are staring wide-eyed and silent in wonder. Alicia is inching towards the bedside table. "Uh…"

"Not so easy, is it?" Victoria says triumphantly.

"You know," another voice says, "as much as I like watching you all stare, I'm wondering if we should have thought this out better."

"Now he tells me," Alex says. "Ryland, you were in on the rap session just as much as we were, so –"

"I'm not pointing fingers." Someone else comes floating down from the ceiling. He's even taller than Alex, all long face and cool blue eyes. "I'm just wondering –"

Alicia throws the bedside table lamp at him. It goes through his stomach and shatters on the opposite wall. Ryland jumps. "Oh, _come on_ , that's just unnecessary."

"Well, this was an abject failure," Alex says. "Where'd Nate go, anyway? Is he lost again?"

"I thought he was with Victoria."

"I think he went to the wrong room," she says.

Alex sighs and takes his glasses off, rubbing his temples. "Let's all just try this again, okay? After some planning. Jesus, I thought this would turn out better."

"Well," Ryland says. He looks around. "Well. Um, sorry about this. I hope everyone enjoys their television?"

"Come _on_ , Ryland," Alex says, already fading.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

"I still like your shoes," Victoria says, and disappears.

"Holy God," Lindsey says. "Was that –"

"Maybe we all should have gone with Gerard," Mikey says.

*****

The oscillator's readings keep going up and down. Gerard doesn't know from one step to the next if he's going to get high energy activity or no activity at all. Maybe he's throwing the machine off somehow; it seems like he's still got a lot of electricity going on.

The readings seem to get steadier as he progresses down the hall, a consistent high level. It all seems to coalesce at a spot on the wall, right where there's a painting of a horse. Gerard moves the oscillator over the frame, over the canvas. The readings start to spike at a point just above the horse's left ear. Gerard steps up close, peering at the oscillator, and then before he can even blink a hand shoots out of the painting and grabs him around the throat.

His first thought is that it's another one of Wentz' stunts, but no mirror in the world can produce this kind of pressure. The hand is rough and dirty, with long nails, and the fucking canvas isn't even ripped around it.

Gerard braces a hand against the wall and shoves himself backward. The hand rakes its nails across his face, but it lets go. Air rushes back into his lungs and he gasps. The hand makes a 'tsk tsk' gesture at him and disappears. The oscillator bleeps.

For one crazy second, he thinks that he should stay here, try to figure out if there's another hot spot somewhere, but then he thinks that he maybe shouldn't stick around and almost get murdered again. He turns around and starts going back to the room, very fast.

One thing is for certain: he owes Pete Wentz a huge fucking apology.

*****

Pete walks into the lobby and finds the Way party huddled around the front desk. They all look white and grim, and he gears himself up to handle another round of complaints, but what actually happens is Gerard stands up straight and says, "Mr. Wentz — Pete — I just need to tell you how sorry I am for what I said last night. I failed as a professional and a scientist. I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure the spirits are safe here in the hotel –"

Pete has no idea what he's talking about. The apology's nice, though. "Um, okay?"

"You need to set up some boundaries, though. Just to make sure they're not disturbed by anything here. Or disturb anyone else. I've found that if you designate a set of rooms as a spirit-friendly area, then there'll be minimal contact between the living and the dead –"

"Wait," Pete says. Gerard blinks, startled at being interrupted. "You know that we faked everything last night. What do you mean, spirit-friendly areas?"

"Of course it can't happen overnight," Gerard says. "Has everyone had training on possibly restless spirits? Um, I kind of had an accident earlier, and it'd be good if someone else can avoid that."

Pete wonders who exactly in the room has gone crazy, him or them. The rest of the party are nodding vigorously at Gerard, and Gerard looks too fucking earnest to be trying to put one over on him.

"Last night — wasn't real," Pete says, but he doesn't sound all that sure of himself. He's never really known how to handle abject earnestness. It occurs to him that he should probably figure out what they saw, if only to use it on some other guests in the future. "How'd you get convinced?"

What he gets is a cacophony from all of them, something about heads and hands and broken lamps, and then they all look at him, like they think it makes sense.

"Oh, okay," Pete says. "Spirit-friendly areas. We'll get right on it."

"Also I think we'd like another room," Lindsey says.

"That too."

*****

Travis has been gone for hours. It gave him time to sit in the room and stew for a while, but when it gets dark and Travis is still gone, he starts wondering what the deal is.

He wanders through the hotel, trying to figure out where Travis might have hidden himself; this is probably just another of his games, the "piss Gabe off" game, and it's starting to work.

The hotel is really fucking huge. He winds up lost in some hallway, with no idea how he got there. It's a relief to see the half-open door.

He's found Travis. He's sitting at the desk inside the room, staring intently at a book. Gabe pushes the door open, but before he can even say anything, Travis gets up and says hopefully, "William?"

Gabe immediately knows this isn't going to be pleasant. "Who's William?"

Travis apparently has the same thought, judging from the look on his face. "How'd you get down here?"

"Never mind. Who's William?"

"I told you," Travis says sulkily. "The ghost."

"I've been looking all over for you for an hour, and you want to talk about ghosts again?"

"It's not like you listen anyway."

"Travis, unless you're going to tell me that you're fucking a ghost –"

Travis pauses for way too long. "I'm not."

"What the fuck, Travis?"

"I didn't want it to happen this way. I thought we'd sit down and just talk things over, not –"

"Are you telling me," Gabe says, "that you're leaving me for a goddamn ghost?"

"I don't _know_ ," Travis says. "I got to stay here for a while, that's all I'm saying. I haven't done –"

He says a bunch of things after that, but Gabe gets stuck on _you're leaving me_ and stops listening. Travis looks like he wants Gabe to say something, but he doesn't, so Travis just keeps talking.

Maybe Travis has just gone crazy, Gabe thinks. He's been talking about ghosts and shit since they got here, and this is something that could definitely point to some kind of breakdown. Gabe could deal with that. He could deal with Travis being crazy and sick and needing him to take charge.

Except Travis doesn't really look or sound all that crazy. Guilty and sad and frustrated, but not crazy. He's still talking and Gabe's still stuck on _you're leaving me_.

"You're leaving me," he says.

"I'm — you _knew_ we were falling apart," Travis says. "You had to know."

"I know that –" What did he know, anyway? He's trying to think, but something must have happened to him because it's all stopped making sense, and everything in his head keeps switching from English to Spanish and finally he can't remember any English at all.

" _Jódete_ ," he says. " _Jódete, hijo de tu puta madre. No puedo creer que estás haciendo esto a mí._ "

"I know you're upset," Travis says. "I mean — oh, fuck." The room lights up.

A tall brown-haired guy crashes into the room, going towards the bedside table. Travis says, "Gabe, William. William, Gabe."

" _Qué carajo?_ " Gabe says.

"Gabe, _English_ ," Travis says. "This is William –"

" _William_ ," someone shouts.

"And that would be Mike," Travis says.

"You can talk to me once you can speak like a human being, Carden. I want you _out_."

The guy charging into the room looks familiar. The sudden realization clears his head, gives him something to focus on. "That's the guy who was in the shower with me," Gabe says. "The one who just disappeared."

"Everything is what you want," Mike says. "You lying –"

"Yeah, it's because they're ghosts. They do a lot of disappearing."

"Why do I bother with you? You've always been a thug. Get the hell out."

"Hey, we were here first," Gabe says.

"I don't think they can hear you," Travis says.

Mike throws William onto the bed. "So were you amusing yourself? Were you? _Were_ you?"

"What the hell's wrong with them, anyway?" Gabe says. In a way, he's sort of grateful that these two lunatics are currently thrashing about on the bed in front of him, because it gives him a chance to think about something other than strangling Travis.

"They're on a fuckin' Moebius strip. William's about to make a break for it –"

"Don't you," Mike says. He slams William against the wall.

"He went left when he should have gone right," Gabe says reflectively. "So, for future reference, you want to tell me which one of these two you're fucking?"

"I _haven't_ — you think we could fuckin' have this discussion another time?"

"Oh, right now's perfect for me, bro," Gabe says. "C'mon. Is it the Peeping Tom or String Bean over there?"

"Bored little boy. So bored he needs to play around –"

"You never listen, do you? You're like the ninja master of selfish, Gabe."

"Oh, and that really means something coming from _you_."

William spits. Mike hauls off and slaps him.

"What the hell?" Gabe says. "You didn't tell me –"

"I was trying to. You just weren't listening."

"As if I ever cared at all," William says. "As if I ever _could_ -"

"Liar," Mike says, and then Gabe sees the knife.

"Oh, fuck, no," Gabe says. He rushes forward, draws his head back and slams it into Mike's forehead. It feels like he just stuck his face into an updraft, and he staggers back.

"Did you seriously just head-butt a ghost?" Travis says.

Mike stares at Gabe, reeling backwards, star-struck. "Oh," he says, and then goes down like a ton of bricks. William breaks away and then takes off.

"Goddamnit. I — Gabe, I'm _sorry_ ," Travis says, and goes after him. Gabe slides to the floor.

He has no idea what he's going to do now.

*****

Travis chases William through the hallways. He doesn't know where they're going, and it looks like William doesn't either. He's not even watching where he's going, and Travis keeps expecting him to trip over something.

"William," he says once they hit one of the alcoves. "Wait up."

William stops short and turns around guiltily. "S-sorry you had to see that again."

"At least I knew what was coming," Travis says.

"Who was the gentleman with you?"

"Gabe." His stomach twists uneasily. He's always sucked at breakups. This one is probably in the top five list of shitty breakups, though.

"Is he your — the one you're staying here with?"

"He was. Is. No, was. Now I don't know."

"Sorry?"

"You're kind of fucking my head up, William," he says. "I haven't even been in Chicago for two days, and I don't even know what the fuck's happened to my life. I'm kind of peeping through my fingers waiting for the next thing to hit me."

William pushes a strand of hair behind his ear. "I don't _choose_ to -"

"I know," Travis says. "I haven't had much chance to get used to ghost stuff, you know?"

"It won't be too much longer, if that's a comfort," William says. "When you go back home –"

"That's not gonna happen. Not after the shit I just pulled in there."

"What?"

"I could have handled that better," Travis says. "I just — I'm going to try to stay here for a while. I don't know if you want to hang out or anything, but I can try. Just, you know, go easy on me. I'm not looking for any heart attacks."

"You're staying for me?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"I don't understand," William says. He sounds a little shaky. "You would really –"

"You look like you could use someone to talk to," Travis says.

"Uh," William says. "I was — I am — Oh, Travis." He stretches his hands out, cupping Travis' face, and kisses his forehead, breeze soft on his face. "Thank you. Thank you."

"From what I hear, I'm kind of a high-maintenance motherfucker," Travis says. He's blushing, he knows it, and he's hoping William doesn't call him on it. "You know, in case you need a warning."

"I don't mind," William says. His face seems to be buried somewhere in Travis' shoulder, and it's giving him the chills. William pulls away.

Travis says, "Just don't want anything else to fall apart on me. I think I've broken enough hearts, you know?"

"Is Gabe going to be all right?"

"I don't know," Travis says. "Like I said, I could have handled that better." William frowns at him. "I was trying to figure out something to tell him. 'Hey, I've got a ghost thing' doesn't really work."

"I suppose it wouldn't."

"Hey," he says, because he's just thought of it. "Is there some thing you can do that I'm supposed to ask about? Some kind of ghost thing?"

William's mouth goes into an O shape. "Who told you about that?"

"Patrick. He says there's this _thing_ you guys can do –"

"Patrick," William says, and shakes his head. "Face of an angel, mind like the devil's."

"What is it?"

William glances from side to side, making sure no one's coming. "Here," he says. He reaches towards Travis' shoulders, and for a second Travis thinks he's going to lean in and kiss him again, but William just slides his fingers down, hands disappearing through the fabric of Travis' shirt.

He's not sure what's going on for a second. He feels cool on his shoulders and then there are chills running up his spine as William slides his fingers down under his shoulder blades, tapping softly. It feels like a massage from the inside out, William's hands spreading out along the muscles. He's got goosebumps up and down his arms because it's still pretty goddamn cold, little icy fingertips running up and down his back, pushing the tension out.

"Ah. _Ah_ ," he says, and William smiles and steps forward, closer, so close that his chin is almost resting on Travis' shoulder, and then he actually walks right through him.

At first it feels like getting splashed with a wave, icy and almost solid, but it retreats and he feels everything in his body shuddering into life, a flood of sensation, so intense that it almost hurts, coming from _everywhere_. He's so hard that he thinks he's going to explode, but then his ears are buzzing and his legs are shaking and his fingers and toes are tingling, and it's happening all at once. He doesn't even know what William's doing, because he can't sort out what's coming from where.

And then it stops, thank God, because it was just too _much_ , and Travis is barely standing, shuddering and shivering and trying to remember to breathe. He feels William's hands sliding delicately out from under his shoulders.

"Craziest massage I've ever had," he's going to say, but what comes out is, "Narrgh." He manages to get to the wall and fall against it as his legs give. William is against the opposite wall, languid and smug, sweat running down his face.

"What the fuck did you just do?" Travis says, once he remembers how to formulate words.

"Did you like it?" William asks.

"I'm pretty sure I jizzed all over myself."

He almost expects William to blow on his nails and then buff them on his shirt. _Cocky motherfucker,_ Travis thinks admiringly.

"Damn," he says. "If that's what you can do when you're dead, I wish I coulda been around when you had a pulse."

The smug look slides off William's face. "What?" Travis says. "What'd I say?"

William shakes his head. "It would have been good. If I'd been alive. It would be easier."

"Guess that wasn't meant to be."

William starts to flicker and fade. " _Don't_ ," Travis says. "Please, don't go."

"Don't have the stamina I used to," William says regretfully. "I can't –"

"What am I, a one night stand?" Travis says. "Please –"

William hesitates. Something that looks like fear flashes across his face, but before Travis can ask about it, he says, "Meet me on Halloween. In the room, at midnight. We'll speak." And then he's gone.

"Goddamn," Travis says.

*****

Gabe's been sitting on the floor for a while, his legs folded up against his chest, arms over his head. He could totally get up if he wanted to, but he's not. Someone's mumbling next to him.

What he's been trying really hard to do is push away the hum at the back of his head that's pulsing out, _There's someone else you managed to drive away,_ and he just doesn't want to think about it.

He picks his head up. The little dark-haired dude from the bathroom, Mike, is hunched over next to him, talking to the floor. It's just weird enough to get him to pay attention.

"Don't," Mike is saying. "Don't, don't. Bill, I'm sorry."

"What the fuck, dude," Gabe says. "What are you doing?"

Mike doesn't even look up. He reminds Gabe of a stage actor doing some kind of solo exercise; total commitment to something that isn't there. Gabe kicks his foot out and tries to nudge him. He guesses that he misses or something; his foot just goes right through empty air. "Hey," Gabe says.

It looks like he's gotten Mike's attention, though; he stops talking to the floor and shakes himself, blinking like he wasn't expecting to find Gabe there.

"What are you doing?" Gabe says. "I'd like to know if you're having some kind of psychotic break, just so I know when to start screaming."

"You've got one hell of a hard skull," Mike says, like he's just remembering. "I didn't know what hit me."

"What do you expect?" Gabe says. "I'm not big on watching people get stabbed in front of me, you know?"

"Oh," Mike says. "Yes. You saw that, eh?"

Somehow Gabe expected him to sound crazier. He sounds weird, but it's more like he's not used to talking than deranged; the words come out awkward and almost shy.

"Couldn't help but see it, dude," Gabe says. "And, yo, while we're at it, what the fuck's up with walking in on me in the bathroom? Doesn't your life have enough excitement already?"

Mike actually blushes, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "I'm sorry. I wasn't meaning to –"

"Can't even take a fuckin' shower in this place," Gabe says. "How'd you get in, anyway?"

Mike shrugs. "Just went there, I suppose."

"So is that how you get your kicks? A little stabbing, a little voyeurism?"

"I was looking after William."

"What?"

"Just seeing that he hasn't got himself into something that he can't manage. Bill doesn't think about these things," he says, sounding irritated. "He just flings himself in and expects everything to be rainbows and moonbeams. I was looking for your — who's the other gentleman? Travis?"

Gabe shrugs. Right now, the last thing he wants to talk about is Travis. Mike frowns at him, but doesn't push the point.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he says.

"I wasn't scared," Gabe says. "I'm just not used to strange dudes wandering into my bathroom. If you were just trying to keep tabs on Tra – on that asshole, then why'd you stick around? Were you trying to get a real good look, make sure I wasn't him?"

"I don't know. I suppose it was because you just seemed like you were unhappy," Mike says. He doesn't say it defensively or sympathetically, he's just quiet and matter-of-fact.

Gabe has no idea how to respond.

"Well, I _wasn't_ ," he says finally. "I don't have emotions. You don't know what you're talking about. Pervert."

Mike doesn't look convinced. Gabe's starting to get mad, and he welcomes it. "What the fuck's your deal, anyway? You haven't even told me your fuckin' last name, and you want to psychoanalyze me, bro? I don't listen to fucking psychos."

"It's Carden," Mike says. "And you haven't told me your name, either."

"Well, I'm not going to," Gabe says, but he knows it sounds childish as soon as it's out of his mouth, and he's right back to feeling numb and exhausted. "Fuck you anyway. Haven't you got someone else to stab or something?"

He expects Mike to get pissed, but he doesn't. He gives Gabe a sidelong look and says, "You've got quite a bit of fire in you, haven't you?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Gabe says.

Mike looks like he's trying to think of something else to say. Except then something seems to pulls him away; his eyes cloud over and he hunches down over the floor again, whispering, "Bill, don't, what have I done," to the air.

"What the hell, dude," Gabe says, pushing himself up. "Hey." Mike doesn't even seem to know he's there. Now that Gabe thinks about it, he doesn't seem like an actor so much as an endless loop of film, the same movements and words repeated over again. " _Hey_ ," Gabe says, and tries to grab his shoulder. His hand goes through the other side.

So maybe Travis was telling the truth about the ghosts after all.

Whatever Gabe did, it seems to work. Mike shudders and flickers, going in and out of focus, and then he's back again, practically in the same position he was before.

"The motherfucker was _right_ ," Gabe says. "Son of a bitch."

Mike glances from side to side, like Gabe's the one who's nuts.

"Goddamn ghosts," Gabe says. "You have totally fucked my report up for work, dude. Goddamn waste of time."

"Uh, I beg your pardon?" Mike says. "You really didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know? Except for the disappearing and the weird clothes and the - _fuck_." Gabe pulls his legs back up to his chest. What the hell else happened that he hadn't been paying attention to? "Thanks for fucking up my whole worldview, Mike. That's really awesome."

"We can't help what we are," Mike says. "I always think it's obvious. I suppose it isn't."

"It was pretty fucking obvious, I just missed it," Gabe says. "Fuck."

"Maybe I should be flattered," Mike says. "That you thought I was alive."

"Go for it," Gabe says. He clasps his hands over the back of his head. "I'm an idiot. I'm a complete idiot."

Mike says, very seriously, "I don't know you so well, but I do know that you're not an idiot. That's very clear."

Gabe looks at him. Mike smiles, looking awkward and young, and despite himself, Gabe finds himself smiling back.

And then Mike hunches over again. There's a flash of blue light and he's gone, leaving Gabe alone.

*****

"I just don't know what their problem is," Pete says. They're meant to be having a staff meeting, but no one wants to talk about the possibility that this might be the last meeting they ever have, so they're doing the next best thing and complaining about the guests. "First the Ways all want another room, and I still haven't figured out what the fuck's going on there. So they're all crammed into one room now, which only gets balanced out because Trav comes up to me — I don't know what the fuck happened between yesterday and today, but now I guess he and his boyfriend can't stand the sight of each other, so _he's_ in another room. It's like everybody just picked now to go insane on me."

"Maybe it's something in the water," Ashlee says.

"Speaking of which," Pete says. "The fuckin' roof is still leaking. Get more pots."

"I'm already down to three pots in the kitchen, Pete," Andy says. "I can't cook anything –"

"That's an understatement right there," Joe says.

"Fuck off," Andy says. "I don't see you stepping up and –"

"Dude, if I even have to look at another lentil, I'm gonna barf," Joe says.

"Hey, I'll turn this car right around if you keep this up," Pete says. "Keep the bickering to a minimum –"

"We're not in a car," Andy mutters sulkily.

"Oh, God," Patrick, who's been unusually quiet tonight, suddenly says. He's looking at a point somewhere above Pete's head.

"What?" Pete says, and turns around. The wall shudders and quakes, going mushy in the middle. "Oh, what now?"

"Pete," Joe says faintly. "Um."

"What?" Pete says, and then he sees the people climbing out from the walls, out from under the floor.

"Oh my God," Ashlee says.

Pete doesn't know how many of them there are. Some of them look almost normal, and some just look withered and decayed, and they're all looking at Pete with surprised eyes.

It doesn't escape Pete's attention that a whole lot of them bear a slight family resemblance to him.

"I think they want to talk to you," Andy says, voice an octave higher than usual. He and Joe seem to have forgotten their previous disagreement and are currently clutching at each other.

"Always with the fuckin' dramatics," Patrick says to the point above Pete's head. "You couldn't just, y'know, show up?"

"I had to make someone realize what he's dealing with," a woman says. "And, _you_ , Pete –"

"Jesus Christ," Pete says. There's a blond woman in a short red dress floating down from the ceiling, spangles catching the light. She looks pissed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, anyway?" she says to Pete. "God, you're just like your grandfather. Always thinking of some crazy scheme –"

"Greta, _lay off_ ," Patrick says. "You don't know –"

"Oh, applesauce," she says. "Let me tell you, pal of mine, that I just hope it isn't too late to fix what you've done, because if it is, then we're all in trouble. And I am not about to leave."

Pete just stares at her. He doesn't know why it should be such a shock to find out that Patrick was right, but it is. _Ghosts. Huh._

"You better know we're here," Greta says. "You better know we're watching." She turns smartly on her heel and stalks off into the throng of ghosts, who murmur quietly and move aside for her. She disappears into the opposite wall.

The ghosts look at each other and shrug, then start shuffling after her. They disappear into the walls, sink into the floor, and then they're all gone.

Nobody says anything for a minute.

"I think the meeting's over now," Patrick says.

*****

Pete goes into the office, shuts the door behind him and very calmly and deliberately crawls under his desk. If he's going to figure out a way to process about five hundred dead people telling him what an asshole he is, he's going to do it from here.

This is one situation that never came up in the hotel management guide.

He doesn't hear the door open, but somewhere above him, Patrick says, "Pete, get out of there. C'mon, it's okay."

"You know you could have told me about this," Pete says. "You could have let me know I had a fucking hotel full of dead people."

"Yeah, okay, you're kind of forgetting about the part where I did. On numerous occasions," Patrick says. "And you didn't believe me."

"Oh," Pete says. "I guess if you want to get particular."

"Look, just come out from under the desk," Patrick says. "That's not going to solve anything."

"Fine." Pete crawls out. "How's everyone else?"

"Trohman remembered there's a parapsychologist in the hotel and they all charged up to the Ways' room. They're probably going to spend the night on the floor there, unless someone objects."

"They'll all be building pillow forts and doing each other's hair in two hours," Pete says.

"Greta was just trying to make a point," Patrick says. "She's scared. She doesn't understand."

"Dude, she's right," Pete says. "I'm just trying to get us through this fuckin' weekend. I don't know what I'm going to do next. No, I just don't know what the fuck I'm doing." He leans his back against the wall. "I don't know what I'm gonna do if I fuck this up, too."

"Well, you _haven't_ ," Patrick says. "And you're a fuckin' moron if you think that you have."

"Patrick, I have managed to practically run my family home into the ground –"

"Not your fault."

"Goddamnit, Patrick, would you just admit that I'm a fuckup and then we can get on with our lives?"

"Not gonna happen. Sorry if that pisses you off, but I really don't care."

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Pete says, because it's so typical, Patrick pissing him off by refusing to tear him down. "You have got to be the blindest person on the planet. It's not like I'm so special that you can just -"

"You stupid motherfucker, that is exactly the point. You are."

Pete stares at him. Patrick's jaw is clenched and trembling, and he's gone all red in the neck. It's probably also typical that Pete can piss Patrick off by feeling like a shitty human being.

"I don't know what to do, Patrick," he says. "I just don't know what to do."

"Right now? Nothing." Patrick sits on the floor with Pete. "I'll talk to Greta. We'll work out something. None of this would have happened if we just had normal ghosts."

"That's a pretty fucking insane thing to say."

"Well, yeah," Patrick says. "You've known me for how long? I thought you'd be used to this by now."

"Every day's a surprise."

"Well, good. God forbid I be boring. So you weren't too freaked out by them? I know some of them are kind of odd looking if you're not used to them, it just -"

"I don't know," Pete says. "I mean, the annoying thing about you is that you're right all the time. I should have known you'd be right about the ghosts, too."

Patrick smiles. He leans in and kisses Pete's temple. "Get off the floor, Wentz. Go try to haul everyone else out of the Ways' room."

"Did you just kiss me, _willingly_ , Patrick Stump? I'm never going to wash my face again."

"I'd be a lot more flattered if I didn't already know you don't wash your face," Patrick says. "Off the floor."

*****

Travis can't sleep. One part of it is that he's got William on the brain, and he knows it's stupid to already be mentally picking out the DVD collection and thinking of what kind of day job would let them get some nice apartment in the city, but he can't help himself. The other part is that he misses Gabe's snoring.

He lies on the bed and tries to read the _Book of The Spirits_ , which has got to be the worst book in the world. He was expecting a straightforward "so you've got ghosts in your house" how-to type of thing, but this is worse than his high school Calculus textbook. It's incredibly shoddily printed, for one thing, which makes it hard to read even with his glasses on, and the stuff that's not illegible is written in weird stilted language, like it's been translated from English to German and back to English. He keeps getting distracted by the woodcut prints scattered throughout, which are the only interesting things here.

Then he turns a page and reads _The living who lie with the spirits lie down in the grave_ , and it gives him the creeps. He assumes it means lie in the Biblical sense, but he can't find anything explaining what 'lie down in the grave' means; it's followed by a bunch of gobbledygook about humors and energies and disturbances, and he's more confused than ever.

As far as he can figure, it's either a literal statement, because no shit fucking a ghost means fucking a dead person, or it's a warning. But what constitutes fucking a ghost, anyway? He's still weak in the knees from that thing William did earlier, but maybe that doesn't count? He hasn't dropped dead yet, anyway. And, now that he thinks about it, how would whoever wrote this _know_ that ghost fucking is fatal? If he remembers his science right, the only way to prove something is to test it, repeatedly, and he can't imagine that anyone, no matter how lovelorn, would volunteer to fuck anyone if they knew it'd kill them, and he can't imagine how to go about tricking someone into a ghost fucking session. Which means the author of this piece of shit is either a liar or a total psychopath who killed people just so they could get a damn book finished. Who the hell wrote this?

He shoves the _Book of the Spirits_ under the bed when he gets to the bit about the 'use of newly dead tissues in reconstituting amorphous spirits.' What he really wants to do is forget he ever opened the book in the first place, but he's seen just enough freaky shit to make him unable to let it go completely. His thought is, _It's probably bullshit, but what if it isn't?_

He never did have much self-preservation where his heart was concerned, though.

*****

Gabe throws back some Ambien as soon as he gets back to the room, but he still doesn't sleep. He lies on the bed all night in a haze, too wired to close his eyes but too out of it to move.

He could blame it on the lights turning on and off and the weird howling outside the door, but those don't start until sometime after dawn. He's just fucked up enough to admit that he's used to Travis being there when he goes to sleep, and knowing that's probably all over now makes him feel weird.

Eventually, he decides it's safe to get off the bed. He goes for the door, thinking that there's got to be somewhere to go, but as soon as he opens it, he almost gets blown off his feet by a gust of stale-smelling air. There's wind wailing up and down the hallway, knocking the table lamps around.

Gerard Way is in front of him, puffing on a cigarette and studying a little electronic dealie in his hand. His hair whips around his face and the little dealie bleeps and squawks. He looks up. "Morning," he says, and attempts to blow smoke to the side. It looks like he blows it in his eyes instead. "Just tryin' to get a baseline level of activity. The spirits aren't really cooperating with me."

Gabe shuts the door and goes back to bed.

He supposes he could go back over the notes for the report, except he already knows what he wrote, and last night pretty much shot that all to hell. His choices appear to be limited to lying and telling his asshole boss what he wants to hear, or telling the truth and having to deal with the ensuing shitstorm. He doesn't like either of them.

Tomorrow morning he has to go back to an empty house and a job he hates, and as far as he can see nothing is ever going to get any better.

Something rustles beside him. Gabe doesn't move.

"Hello," Mike says.

Gabe cracks an eye open. "Oh. It's you."

"Good day to you too," Mike says. He sits with one leg under him on the other side of the bed, looking quietly at him.

"If you want entertainment, you can just go somewhere else," Gabe says. "I'm busy."

"All right," Mike says, more easily than Gabe's expecting, and starts to fade. Then he thinks better of it and kind of hovers there transparently. "Are you busy, or would you just rather be by yourself?"

"I'm _busy_ ," Gabe says, even though it occurs to him that he could come up with something better, given that he's currently lying flat on his back. He lies a lot, he thinks distantly, he lies because it's easy and because he can. "I'm very busy and important. I have a house and a car and a job and everyone listens to everything I say all the time. I'm the most fucking important person you're ever going to meet."

He realizes that he sounds hysterical not even halfway through, but he still can't stop talking. Mike is looking at him with what seems to be a mixture of concern and actual fucking pity, and Gabe did not come all the way out to Chicago to get pitied by a dead guy. "Fuck you," he says. "Fuck you, get the fuck away from me." He rolls over and puts his arm over his face.

"Here now," Mike says. Gabe feels cool air brushing against his shoulder, almost petting at him. It feels nice. Weird, but kind of nice. "Here now. What's the matter, then?"

"The problem is that I'm fucking sick of my life," Gabe says. "Everything is a bunch of bullshit."

Mike doesn't say anything. Gabe pulls his arm down. "No offense or anything," he says.

Mike shrugs. Gabe says, "I used to be fun. I used to be the guy who knew what he was fuckin' doing. And now I don't. Travis was one of the last people who would put up with my shit, and now he's fuckin' gone."

"Well, then he's a goddamn fool," Mike says.

Gabe looks at him, wondering if he's been listening. Mike looks completely serious. Gabe says, "Whatever. I don't give a shit, anyway."

"It seems like you say that a lot."

"Well, it's the truth. I don't care. I put a lot of fuckin' work into not caring."

"Maybe you work too hard."

"Probably," Gabe says. "What the fuck else am I going to do? It keeps me from going crazy. Crazier. Travis never got that. No, fuck it, he did get that. He just got sick of dealing with it." He picks at the bedspread. "Travie always fuckin' wanted grand romance. I was kind of a shitty choice for that."

"William always wanted the same," Mike says. "You can see how well that ended."

"Eh, I don't know," Gabe says. "You get pissed off enough, an eternity of smacking someone around and then stabbing them to death sounds pretty fuckin' good."

"It's the worst thing I've ever done." Mike doesn't move, but his voice sounds raw. "I wish it would stop. I wish it never happened. I can't –" He looks at his knee. "I have to lose him every night."

"Oh," he says. Mike keeps looking at his knee. Slowly, awkwardly, Gabe says, "Sorry. In case you haven't noticed by now, I'm kind of a douchebag."

Mike looks up. The corner of his mouth quirks. "We all have our problems."

"I guess."

"We always fought," Mike tells him. "I just thought someday we'd stop."

"Yeah," Gabe says. "Pretty easy to not get what you want, right?"

"I wish you'd tell me your name," Mike says.

He looks across the bed. Mike meets his eyes, hopefully, and then looks down again.

It's kind of weird that the one person who doesn't seem to hate him here would turn out to be a ghost and a murderer. Or maybe it's just fitting.

"I'm Gabe," he says.

"Gabe," Mike says, testing it out, and smiles. "I should tell you why I came here –"

"It wasn't to try to catch me in the shower again, was it? Because I don't get wet and naked on a schedule."

"No," Mike says. "I wouldn't mind, but –" He scowls at the bedspread, then looks back up. "I needed to – warn you. It's Halloween. It's the one night of the year where we can come back, if we choose to. Greta — have you met Greta?"

Gabe shakes his head. Mike says, "She has something planned. I don't know what, but I think you should stay in your room for tonight. There's a lot of talk, and it doesn't sound good."

"Swell," Gabe says. "What the fuck do I have to look forward to _now_?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to find out. Be wary." Mike begins to fade out again. "Just so you know, I still think your Travis was a fool."

*****

"Someone could have fuckin' clued me in about living in the goddamn Overlook Hotel," Joe says. He's trying to drink a beer at the bar, but his hands are shaking so badly that he can't hold the glass. He's trying to manage with a straw instead.

"This isn't the fucking _Shining_ ," Patrick snaps at him. He stomps up and down the barroom floor with his arms crossed, tapping his fingers on the inside of his forearm.

"Trohman, calm down," Pete says. He sits at the table with his arm around Ashlee, his eyes following Patrick. "It can't be _The Shining_. Where's the blood? Where are the creepy twins?"

The wind starts up again outside the bar, wailing and howling and rattling the lamps. Joe sucks half his beer down in one swallow.

"What do they want?" Ashlee asks, somewhere between fear and practicality. "Can we just give them something, calm them down?"

"They want to stay," Patrick says. "Like everyone. I wish I could fuckin' find Greta. She's hiding out from me –"

"Where the fuck are the snacks?" Andy says, barreling in through the doors. All the blood's drained from his face.

"I thought you were making lunch," Patrick says.

"Fuck you," Andy says. He jumps over the bar and starts tossing supplies left and right. "I went to look for the tamari and this tall guy in a turtleneck randomly materializes in the kitchen. Told me I'd be better off using chile and ginger and then disappeared when I threw a spoon at him. I'm not fuckin' going back there. Everyone's eating pickled onions and cashews from now on and if they don't like it they can kiss my ass."

"He was probably just trying to get you to make those dumplings of his," Patrick says. "They're pretty good. Alex was a chef, you know, and -"

"I wish you'd tell your fucking friends to quit scaring the shit out of everyone," Andy says.

"Do you think I have a fuckin' _direct line_ in to them?" Patrick says. "Just because they show up and talk to me every so often, it doesn't mean that I have any idea what's going on."

"You know a whole lot more than we do," Joe says around his straw. "Dude, I can't even deal."

"I don't think you're even on their radar, Trohman," Pete says. "These are my family ghosts, okay, and if any one of them has anything to say, they can talk to me about it."

"What'd I just walk into?" Travis says from the doorway.

"Little dysfunctional family meeting," Pete says. "What's up?"

"Figuring some things out," Travis says. He comes into the bar. "Patrick, dude, I put that piece of crap you gave me somewhere under the bed in my room when it started tossing some _Re-Animator_ bullshit at me. Lucky I didn't toss _it_."

Patrick doesn't appear to be in any mood. "What were you expecting, some kind of literature classic? It's just meant to get you prepared."

"Prepared, my ass," Travis says. He looks at Joe. "You okay?"

"No," Joe says, and sucks down the rest of his beer. "It's all good, though."

Travis looks suspiciously at him. Pete says, "We've got a little ghost problem. Like mice, but with more death. Before you tell me I'm insane –"

"What, I know all about that," Travis says.

"Huh?" Pete says.

"Apparently I have a date with one of them tonight," Travis says.

Nobody says anything for a minute.

"Dude, I've heard of rebounding, but that's fuckin' ridiculous," Pete says.

Travis shrugs. "It'll either be the best thing I ever did or it'll fuckin' kill me. Either way, I don't want to be sober for it. Do you have any whiskey, wine, shit like that?"

"Travis," Patrick warns. "Be responsible."

"Fuck that," Travis says. "I've been being responsible for years, and look what happened. I like Jameson. Do you have any of that?"

"Top shelf, dude," Joe says.

Travis puts forty bucks on the bar. "Bring the bottle down."

"That stuff'll kill you," Andy says.

"Says the man behind the bar," Travis says. "C'mon."

Andy mutters darkly to himself, but gets up on tiptoe and gets the bottle. Travis takes it and puts a corkscrew in his pocket. "I'll see you later. Maybe."

" _Travis_ ," Patrick says.

Travis looks up and gives them all a half-smile. "I can't not take the fuckin' chance." And then he slouches out of the bar.

"How do you even get a date with a ghost?" Andy says.

"It's a Halloween thing," Patrick says. "No, it's a _William_ thing. I've got no clue what goes on in that kid's head. This is fuckin' gonna end horribly, I know it."

"I'm not even going to ask who you know here anymore," Joe says. The wind howls; when it dies down, it's replaced with the sound of disembodied children laughing, an echoing chorus of shrill high voices. Andy dives under the bar. "Fuckin' fuck," Joe says. "Hurley, come out of there. I need another beer. I need _all_ the beer."

"Get your own poison." Andy says muffedly.

"Okay," Patrick says. "You are all making a really big deal of this, and –"

Gerard comes into the bar. His hair is in his face and the gadget in his hand is bleeping wildly. "I think it's pretty much impossible to calculate a baseline," he says. "I don't know where the safe zones should be."

"You know," Pete says, "much as we appreciate the help, I think you can maybe back off on the ghost safety procedures until this dies down. You look like shit, dude."

"I ran into a manifestation somewhere on the second floor," Gerard says. "Nuns. About twenty fuckin' silent staring nuns. It was my childhood all over again."

"Nuns?" Ashlee says. "Peter, the hotel was never a convent, was it?"

"They're not nuns," Patrick says. "They were going to a costume party."

Gerard looks almost offended. "Dude. What the fuck?"

"What?" Patrick says. "It was sometime in the sixties. There was a flash fire or something in the kitchen, and –"

Gerard slams the gadget down on a table. "You have a goddamn clairvoyant right here in the hotel, and it didn't fuckin' _cross your mind_ to let me know before I started this shit?"

"Oh, here we go," Patrick mutters, and sits down next to Ashlee.

"Hey, I didn't know it either before last night," Pete says. "I thought he was just being Patrick. And you're not fuckin' entitled to him."

"This all could have been avoided," Gerard says. "If I knew where the nexus of activity was in the hotel, I could — what the hell, man, don't you want to _help_?"

Pete jumps up before Patrick can even open his mouth. "Excuse me?"

"Wasting your goddamn gift," Gerard says to Patrick. "This hotel is totally unprotected, okay, and if you want to sit there and –"

" _Fuck you_ , asshole," Pete says.

"It's not a gift," Patrick says, very quietly. Ashlee leans over and squeezes his hand.

"I'm just tryin' to say that you could try to make this easier," Gerard says.

"Oh, hell no," Pete says. "This is my fuckin' hotel, and they're my fuckin' ghosts, and Patrick's _my_ fuckin' admin, okay, and if you want to find a guinea pig to use for a spirit hunt, you can find one on your own goddamn time."

"Peter, you are going to stop yelling now," Ashlee says.

"Patrick's the only reason any of us know what's going on," Pete says. "You are _not_ going to stand there and –"

" _Peter_ ," Ashlee says. "Sit down and shut up. Now."

Pete sits down. He curls a hand around Patrick's shoulder.

"We're all trying to figure out what to do," Ashlee says to Gerard, who's looking at the floor like a kid in the principal's office. "Really, there's too much going on right now to set up the — what did you call them?"

"Spirit-friendly areas," Gerard mutters.

"Yeah," she says. "Look, we're trying to figure out what the damage control has to be. You have any advice on that, I think we can all listen."

"I haven't thought about that," Gerard says. "Busy trying to find everything."

"I think you should back off before you kill yourself," Ashlee says. "I don't think that'd make anyone happy."

"My wife's already tearing her hair out," Gerard says. He sits down heavily, looking exhausted, and presses his hands against his eyes. "Could I please have a Diet Coke?"

"It's not cold," Joe says.

"Fine with me." Gerard picks his head up and looks at Patrick. "Sorry, man. I get carried away sometimes."

"Join the club," Patrick says.

"Pete," Ashlee says.

Pete gives the table a sulky look and says, "Sorry."

"I'm kind of used to getting yelled at," Gerard says. "Has there been any activity in here? Because if there hasn't I'd kind of like to go get my family."

"Shit's happening in the rooms, too?" Pete says.

"Hey, look," Gabe says from the doorway. "It's a party. Awesome." He looks at Pete. "I was supposed to stay in my room, but your ghosts are fucking playing the bongos or something up there and it's giving me the goddamn creeps. Have you seen Travie, or has he already taken off with the corpse?" Pete doesn't answer. Gabe comes in and immediately heads for the bar. "I'll take that as a 'yes' then. Fuckin' _mazel tov_ to them both. Is the bar open? It's gotta be five somewhere."

"Help yourself," Joe says, trying to get his hands to stop shaking long enough to open his beer bottle.

"I'm going to get my family," Gerard says, and stands up, lighting a cigarette and grabbing his Diet Coke. "I think we should maybe designate the bar as a safe zone for now."

"We'll see," Pete says. He looks at Patrick. "Got any brilliant ideas to share?"

"As far as I can see," Patrick says, "we're just going to have to ride it out."

*****

The ghosts are really kicking up a racket outside. Travis sits in the room, staring into his water glass of Jameson and trying not to think about the condoms and lube in his pocket, and listens to the echoing laughter. Here's the thing: he's forgotten about how fucking nerve-wracking waiting for someone is. Back when he was a kid, he could try to distract himself by messing with his hair or picking at a zit or changing shirts two or twenty times, but he's older now and none of that stuff really ever worked to begin with. The only thing he can really do is sit and feel himself hurtling towards something he doesn't understand.

He's shitty with patience. He's ADD anyway, and he thinks too much, and he's just starting to realize that he has no idea what's going to come next, assuming that he's not going to kick the bucket tonight. Everything he has is all tied up with Gabe ( _Fucked that up, didn't want it ending like this, sorry Gabe_ ). He doesn't want to leave, but he doesn't know how long he can afford to stay, either. He takes another drink.

He hears someone turning the doorknob. He abandons his initial plan of sipping and gulps the drink down. It goes straight to his head and he wobbles a little when he stands up.

"Hello," William says.

"Hey," Travis says. William leans against the wall, looking at Travis through his hair and biting his nails. Travis says, "So, are you here? Like, here-here?"

William holds up a long-fingered hand. "In the flesh," he says, and glances up to meet Travis' eyes, making sure Travis knows he just made a joke.

"You spend a lot of time thinking that up?" Travis says.

William scowls. He probably expected Travis to be on the floor and clutching his sides by now. "Some."

"Quick on your feet," Travis says. Now that he's closer to William, he can see the difference; the soft-focus haze is gone, taking most of William's mystique with it. His hair is all cowlicky, like he didn't have time to comb it, and there's a cluster of small red zits near his temple. Except for the clothes and haircut, he looks like anybody else. Travis pokes his shoulder and feels the ridge of bone.

"It's just something that happens," William says. Travis is too distracted by his collarbone under his fingertips to answer. "All Hallows Eve. It could be any other day –" Travis pokes him in the stomach. William laughs and bats his hand away.

"Prod at me all you like," he says, grinning. "I'm still here."

One of William's front teeth is slightly chipped. Travis smoothes his thumb under William's lower lip, liking the warmth on his fingers. William turns his face against Travis' hand.

"We should – talk," he says.

"Want to say hello first?" Travis says.

William puts his elbows on Travis' shoulders and crosses his wrists, hands brushing against the top of Travis' head. He kisses like they're at a high school dance, hesitant and overly conscious, and his teeth graze Travis' bottom lip.

William pulls away. "You've had whiskey," he says approvingly, and licks his lips. His mouth is glossy and pink.

"There's still some left over," Travis says. "I thought I was going to swig the whole fuckin' thing down sitting here. You really know how to keep a dude waiting."

William shrugs. "Time and I aren't friends."

Travis pours him a drink. William's eyes light up but he takes the glass graciously and raises it. He says, like he's standing in front of an audience instead of just Travis, "'I had been hungry all the years; my noon had come, to dine; I, trembling, drew the table near, and touched the curious wine.'"

"First off, you need some help differentiating your booze. Second of all, I don't know how curious this is," Travis says. "Maybe if someone spit in it or whatever. Got anything else you'd like to recite?"

"I was _toasting_."

"Hell of a toast," Travis says. He reaches out and kneads the hem of William's jacket between his thumb and index finger. "Whatever happened to 'Here's a health to all those that love us,' or whatever?"

"I suppose it just didn't immediately spring to mind," William says, and takes a drink. He swallows damn near half the glass in two seconds, and his face and neck are flushed when he brings it down. "I missed this."

"Glad to be of service," Travis says. He still hasn't let go of William's jacket. William tries to put the glass down on the table and the linen goes taut in Travis' fingers.

"You'll have to let go of me sometime, Travis," he says, smiling.

"Who says?" Travis wraps his fingers around William's wrist.

"I do," William says. He straightens up and nudges Travis with his index finger. "Do you really still need proof that I'm here?"

Travis yanks him closer and kisses him again, hard. William sighs into his mouth, long fingers digging into Travis' hip. He tastes of whiskey smoke and caramel.

He feels William lean against him, soft warm skin over bone, and thinks, _Okay, yeah, I could get used to this_. William lets go of his hipbone and knots his fingers in Travis' shirt. He's all gangly arms and legs and he doesn't seem to know what to do with them.

Then William makes a low resigned sound and pushes him away, saying, "No, Travis, please. I'm sorry, we mustn't."

"Oh," Travis says. Part of him wants to say thanks for keeping his head in order, and the other part of him wants to crawl under the bed and stay there for about twenty years. "Yeah. I guess so. It's because it'll kill me if we go any further, right?"

" _What_?"

"I don't know," Travis mumbles. He turns away from William and tries to make himself look useful by having another drink. "I read this book — it was something about lying with the dead -"

William starts laughing. He sags against the arm of the couch and then slides down altogether, body sprawled on the cushions and legs hanging off the side. There's a hysterical tint to the laughter that Travis doesn't like. He slams the glass down.

"Fuck you," he says, sounding just as semi-hysterical. "What the fuck am I supposed to think, anyway?"

William stops laughing. He slides his legs onto the floor and sits up, hands clasped together. "Travis," he says softly. "My poor darling, nothing's going to happen to you."

*****

The ghosts seem to be getting bored. They've all been hunkered down in the bar for hours, and the winds and laughter have been getting more and more half-hearted. Pete sits with his back against the wall, Ashlee asleep in his lap and Patrick mostly asleep and muttering against his shoulder. Mikey Way is sitting next to him with his chin resting on his knee while he keeps an eye on Alicia, who's curled up on top of one of the tables.

"I was thinking this was just going to be some new weird tourist attraction," Pete says quietly, trying not to move. "I'm sorry about fucking the vacation up for you guys."

Mikey turns his head, and he might be trying to look angry, or he might be trying to look soothing. It's hard to tell. "Gerard was expecting another scam. More fake blood and dead gerbils. This is a change."

"Guess it would be," Pete says.

"I think my brother can find someone else to do his documentation for him next time this happens," Mikey says. "No offense, but I really don't like haunted houses."

"None taken," Pete says.

There's a crackle as the sound system turns on. Patrick flinches and makes a sound like, "Arrrwudda," and Ashlee pushes herself out of Pete's lap.

"Okay!" Gerard says loudly, coming awake from where he's been slumped against Lindsay's side. "Okay! Everything's fine!"

The music starts up, the same amusement park music they used for the stage show, lurching and tinkling with sublime banality. The cardboard backdrops start to sway in time.

"Patrick," Pete says. "Patrick?"

"I can't see anyone," Patrick says. "I don't know what they think they're doing –"

"The readings are off," Gerard says, staring at his gadget. "The levels should be way higher."

There's a hideous gear-grinding noise from the stage and the backdrops stop swaying. The music stops and the lights go out. Even the rain that's been pounding down on the hotel for the past few days stops.

"So what does that mean?" Joe says. The lights come back on again. Everyone looks around. The wind has stopped. The disembodied laughter seems likewise absent. Nobody moves.

"Patrick," Joe says out of the corner of his mouth. "Patrick, where is everyone?"

"I don't know," Patrick says. "They're just gone."

Lindsey looks at Gerard. "Babe?"

"I'm getting nothing," Gerard says. "There's the normal amount of electrical energy, but –"

"So where'd they go?" Gabe says.

"I don't know," Gerard and Patrick say at the same time. Patrick shrugs. Gerard says, "I really need to find out what's going on. If everyone wants to stay here for a while –"

"Fuckin' splitting up is how everyone dies in horror movies," Pete says. "Don't be an idiot."

"Pete, not everything in horror movies happens in real life," Patrick says.

"I'm not staying here," Joe says. "It's way creepier now that it's quiet."

"Buddy system, okay?" Ashlee says. "Let's just see if it's safe."

"If _anything_ weird happens, we all fuckin' turn back," Alicia says. "I don't care, someone sees a mouse or something, we all go back."

Gerard looks at Patrick. Patrick flaps his hands and goes to join him.

*****

"Really, can you blame me for freaking out a little?" Travis asks William. He sits down next to him on the couch. "How am I supposed to know what's fatal or not?"

William shrugs. He runs his thumb over the back of Travis' hand. "I was only surprised, that's all."

"So you want to try the other plan now?"

"What's that?"

"The whole thing," Travis says. "I pack my shit up, find some nice little house — I'd settle for an apartment though, I'm a city kid; I get some kind of day job so I can paint, maybe get a couple of dogs, and you wander over whenever you feel like it and we lie around like fuckin' gentlemen of leisure. Don't expect any fancy dates until I get my ass settled."

"That isn't possible," William says.

"I don't know, you can clean the house then. Unpaid labor."

"No, I –" William waves his hand to encompass the whole room, or maybe the world. "I can't — it isn't possible for me to leave the castle. I can't go farther than the end of the drive. If I tried to leave, then I'd just…cease to be."

"Oh," Travis says. Somehow he hadn't thought about that particular possibility. "That can't change? That's how it is?"

William nods.

"Oh," Travis says. "Okay. Yeah."

"I asked you to do this for me," William says miserably. "I asked and I didn't think about what you'd have to do –"

"Hey," Travis says. "I'm really awesome at changing my plans, you know? Nothing says I can't come to you, right?"

"But it w-won't be as nice."

"What the fuck do I care about nice?"

William scowls. "And if you didn't stay here, what would happen to you then?"

"I've kind of already burned my fuckin' bridges, William."

"Every single one," William says flatly. "Everything in your life."

"I don't know," Travis says. For some reason he was thinking that this was something that could be special, if he worked at it. "What am I gonna do? Sleep on someone's couch until I can get myself together. Make sure Gabe's doing okay without me. Start over again."

William taps his fingers against his lips. Travis says, "I made my fuckin' choices, William."

"I know." William looks like he's focusing all his attention on the strand of hair currently hanging in his face. "I only want –"

"What?"

William raises his head. "Several things. Mostly you."

*****

Gerard's gadget picks up something once they're close to the lobby doors. The moon is high and full and yellow outside, glittering light on the gravel. Gerard turns around and says, "I didn't think about checking outside. If there's a nexus of activity out there –"

"Wide open space, bro," Gabe says from somewhere in the back. "Anything happens, we all scatter."

Gerard pushes the doors open. The air is sharp and smells of dead leaves. It's nowhere near as cold as it should be.

"Holy _shit_ , dude," Joe says, staring off into the distance. There are blue and pink and yellow lights flickering on the shores of the lake, just over the hill. Between the moon and the lights, the whole outside seems candlelit.

"Fireflies?" Gabe asks hopefully. "That's fireflies, right?"

"Not a chance," Patrick says. He starts walking towards the lake. The grass, frozen with frost, crunches under his heels.

"Fuckin' _nexus_ ," Gerard says, following him.

"This counts as something weird!" Alicia says. "Really, definitely counts!"

Lindsey's eyes are wide. "Oh, it's fuckin' beautiful. Look."

"Waving a red flag in front of a bull," Gabe says, but he's already following, too.

It takes twenty minutes to get to the shores of the lake. The lights are floating over the water. Patrick looks like he's about ready to walk in after them, but Pete grabs his shoulder and hauls him back. Gerard stands on the shore, waving the gadget, tides sploshing onto his shoes.

"This isn't spirit activity," Gerard says. He sounds disappointed. "This is _something_ , but it's not spirits."

"Patrick," Ashlee says. "Patrick, what is it?"

Patrick doesn't answer. He stands looking out over the lake like a hypnotized man.

*****

"We should be friends," William slurs into his ear, breath hot against his face.

"Friends," Travis says wildly, and he doesn't know what the fuck he means because William is basically in his lap, chest pressed up against his. "Okay. I can live with friends."

"Live _very happily_ ," William says but then he apparently decides that normal friendship procedure includes his tongue in Travis' mouth, teeth tugging on Travis' lower lip. Travis groans and throws his arm across the back of William's skinny shoulders. The linen of his shirt is rough.

"Why the fuck are you wearing this?" Travis says around William's mouth. "Goddamn, you gonna just dry-hump me all night, or –"

William shoves himself up, staggering against the table and knocking the empty Jameson bottle over. "I would like you to know that I do not by any account want this to change our relationship. By any means."

"Uh-huh," Travis says. He can see William's cock pressing through his pants. "How about changing out of your clothes, though?"

"Travis," William says. "I –" He leans over and hauls Travis to his feet, pushing long fingers up under Travis' shirt, fingers shaking on his stomach.

"Get your clothes off," Travis says hoarsely, knotting his fingers in William's hair. "C'mon."

"You'll laugh," William says.

"Who cares." Travis lets go of William's hair and backs away, yanking his shirt off and dropping it on the floor.

William fumbles with the buttons on his clothes, glancing at Travis as he throws down his shirt and pants. He's wearing old man's long underwear and an undershirt. There are garters holding his socks up. Travis snickers.

"I _warned_ you," William says. He takes a garter off and tosses it at Travis' head. It gets stuck in his hair and then hangs there like a decoration. Travis looks up at it, crossing his eyes.

William giggles, reaches over and snatches the garter back before dropping it on the floor. He's more solidly built than Travis expected, with a small, compact torso; he's just got legs like a giraffe, long and skinny. Travis slides his hand down William's stomach and over his abdomen, hair brushing against his knuckles.

"This is wrong," William says.

"What the fuck's wrong about it?"

William swallows. He looks up at Travis' face, scowling intently like he's trying to memorize him, and then he digs his fingers deep into Travis' shoulder and kisses him on the mouth, nose knocking against his.

He pulls William onto the bed, getting him on his back, knees raised. And then he remembers that he forgot to get the stuff out of his pants and he has to get up and go root through the pile of his discarded clothes to find it.

"Hurry _up_ ," William says, writhing, bedclothes wrapped around his fists.

"You're a bossy little thing, aren't you?" Travis says, grinning. He's having a hell of a time juggling lube and condoms and inside-out pants pockets. He tries to get the condom on before he gets back to the bed, but he almost trips over his own feet instead, and this is kind of not the impression he wants to be making right now.

"Please," William says.

"Hold your damn horses," Travis says, finally managing to get the condom on. He gets back onto the bed, checking to see that William's not suddenly changing his mind about things, but his eyes are wide and needy and he's reaching for Travis already. He dips his shoulder and kisses William's chin.

He slicks his fingers up, lube puddling in his hand, dripping onto the sheets. William whines low in his throat and Travis pushes his thighs apart, gently slipping his fingers inside him. William hisses and bites his lip; Travis pulls back, says, "Okay?"

William wraps his legs around the small of Travis' back, shoving himself forward across the sheets. Travis wraps his fingers around his hipdone, tilting him up and easing in slowly, trying not to hurt. William moans and then goes soft and pliant, looking up at Travis through his eyelashes. Travis touches his face. "Hey, gorgeous," he says, and William smiles and closes his eyes.

"Where're you going?" Travis asks.

William doesn't answer, but he grabs onto Travis' wrists and holds on tight. He shudders and sparks with every move Travis makes, tightly contained firecracker energy threatening to explode. When he comes he arches off the bed and yowls like a dying man.

"Jesus, Bill," Travis says, but then William tenses around him and he's coming, sweat running down the back of his neck. He pulls out and drops down onto the bed, tossing the condom at the wastebasket.

"I fuckin' _love_ Halloween," he says.

William smiles. He looks over at Travis and brushes the hair out of his face. There's something obliquely upset about his eyes.

"What?" Travis says. "What's going on?"

William shifts over and wraps an arm around his chest. He kisses the side of Travis' face, over and over. "I want you to know that I care," he says. "That's not going to change."

Travis wants to ask what he means, but William just sighs and rests his head against his shoulder, and Travis sort of needs to take a piss but he likes the feeling of William's weight on him too much to move, so he wraps his arms around William's waist and shuts his eyes.

*****

"So do we have any idea what they are?" Andy asks no one in particular. The lights flicker and shimmer.

"My vote's still on fireflies," Gabe says.

"Too cold for fireflies," Mikey says. "And they're not moving."

Patrick keeps looking out over the water. Pete leans in and says, very softly, "What're you trying to find, Rickster?"

"Greta," Patrick says.

"It might be just an ordinary fluctuation," Gerard says. "Like fuckin' — like the universe just burped."

"Greta," Patrick says again, but he's talking to someone now, looking at the horizon.

"What?" Andy says.

"Lady in the lake," Mikey says.

"Oh, so it's like that," Gabe says.

Greta floats on top of the lake. Her hair is loose and blowing about her face, streaming gold. The lights begin to flash and the water roils.

"What the fuck do you want to prove?" Patrick says. The water by the shore hisses as it recedes, leaving rocks and mud shining in the moonlight. "Do you really think that _anybody_ here thinks we're faking anymore?"

"You think this is _enough_?" she says, voice high and thin. "Is it?"

"Hey, I'm totally convinced!" Joe says. "I was convinced days ago!"

"Convinced," Mikey says.

"What he said," Gerard says, and Lindsey nods.

"One of your guys fuckin' _warned_ me about this," Gabe says.

Greta pauses. Her hair stops streaming about her face. "Patrice –"

"The weekend's over," Patrick says. "It's over."

There's a low squishing sound coming up from the mud, and then there are bony hands shoving the rocks aside. There are things crawling out of the lake, slick with mud and covered in moss. It's not clear how some of them can even move — they seem more like scraps of flesh wrapped around bone than anything else, but they're moving, and picking up speed as they near the shore.

"It isn't over yet," Greta says.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Pete says.

"Well," Greta says. She swoops down and seizes one of the things, hauling it up with her. It screams and thrashes and then goes limp. She throws it down. "Looks like I balled this up."

They're still coming out of the lake, bundles of flesh and nerve, piles of clattering bone and claws and teeth. "Get to higher ground. Go _now_ ," Greta says.

*****

Gabe takes off running as soon as the thing starts screaming. He scrabbles up the hill, not knowing where he's going but knowing he's got to get _away_.

Everyone else seems to have the same plan. The Ways charge past him, Gerard waving his little gadget doodad like an epee. They're all running in one direction, but Gabe can't really ask where they're headed because out of the corner of his eye he sees one of the things closing in on him, and he runs faster.

He's not sure what exactly it has in mind for him, but it's making a hoarse slobbery sound and clawing itself across the ground with improbable speed, so he doesn't want to stick around to find out. Branches are hitting him in the face and he has no idea where he's going.

He crashes into something that feels like a vertical Jacuzzi current and goes down hard, cursing. The current goes down with him, and when Gabe opens his eyes he's looking right at Mike.

"I told you to stay in the room," Mike says resignedly.

Gabe opens his mouth to bitch him out, but all that comes out is a wobbly sort of weak kitten noise. Mike pushes himself up. The thing springs into the air, snarling, but before it can come down Mike reaches out and grabs it by what looks like the scruff of its neck and _shakes_.

It screams horribly. Gabe shoves himself backward, dead leaves crunching under his hands. The thing goes limp. Mike tosses it down the hill.

"You'd best get back to the castle," Mike says. "They don't like light. They won't follow you in there."

"Okay," Gabe says. He shoves himself to his feet and runs.

*****

Travis wakes up feeling sticky and still tired. He doesn't feel William's weight on his chest anymore and gropes across the bed, but it's empty. He opens his eyes.

William stands with his back turned, awkwardly buttoning up his pants. "Hey," Travis says. "What's going on?"

William looks at him. His face is gray and slack, eyes sunken in the sockets. His hair is lank and wispy and seems like it's barely hanging on his skull. He looks bloodless and withered and somehow bloated, like an embalming job gone wrong.

Travis shoves himself out of bed, back hitting the wall. He stares across the room, unable to think, unable to speak.

"I can explain," William says, voice slurred, croaking painfully from his throat.

Travis isn't listening. William tries to move towards him, shuffling forward slowly, and Travis thinks, _The living who lie with the spirits lie down in the grave_. It probably should have crossed his mind that he wasn't the only one who had to worry about that.

"Travis," William says, stretching ruined fingers towards him, and Travis grabs his pants from off the floor and runs like hell.

*****

They lose Andy somewhere along the way; he had the idea that he was going to climb one of the trees and wait it out, but now he's stuck there with about three of the things snarling up at him and shaking the trunk, and if anyone approaches Andy yells bloody murder, so they plan to go back for him later.

Greta's doing what she can, flying in and out among the trees and snatching up anything in reach. Every so often, there's a howl and then a splash as she throws another one back into the lake.

"It sounds like fuckin' groundhogs dying," Joe says. He's huddled by a hollow tree with Patrick and Pete and Ashlee, trying to catch their breaths before running on. "Where do we go? Pete, what do we do?"

"Where's George Romero when you need him," Pete says, and then Mikey Way comes hurtling out of the darkness and trips over him. Pete yelps and then clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Where's my family?" Mikey says. "They were right behind me –"

"Mikey," Gerard says from somewhere in the dark. He and Lindsey and Alicia come crashing out. Alicia moans and grabs onto Mikey and doesn't let go.

"Okay," Pete says. "Okay, everyone needs to find shelter now. Just running around isn't going to do anything. Patrick, get everyone back to the hotel and I'll –"

Ashlee lets out an indignant yelp and grabs onto Pete's hand.

"Fuck you," Joe says.

"I'm not leaving you," Patrick says.

"Nobody's leaving anybody," Gerard says. He takes a wheezing breath. "Let me think for a second, let me think. I know somebody who — they look like they've only got a certain amount of concentrated energy holding them together. You strike out with enough force, enough to dissipate it, and –"

"Ghost whacking?" Pete says.

"They're not even really ghosts," Patrick says. "They're just these kind of…things."

"Everyone get a goddamn stick or something," Pete says. "You see anything coming at you, you just start swinging. And nobody fuckin' split up."

*****

Travis tears down the stairs to the lobby. The thing that used to be William creeps after him. He goes for the doors, figuring outside can't be any worse than inside, but before he even touches the handle they fly open, almost hitting him in the face, and Gabe crashes inside and into him, almost knocking him over.

As if things weren't fucked up enough already.

"Gabe," Travis says. Gabe is ashen and gasping for breath, shivering in his arms.

"I think a ghost just defended my honor," he says. "Where have you been?"

"Uh," Travis says. William finally makes it down the stairs, lurching into the lobby. Gabe looks up.

"Holy _shit_ ," he says, and shoves himself out of Travis' arms. "What the fuck, Travis?"

"I can explain," Travis says. William crumples onto the lobby couch.

"Explain that you're a goddamn necrophile?" Gabe says. "Or are you going to tell me that he has a really awesome personality?"

"What the fuck do you care, anyway?" Travis says, and maybe getting defensive isn't the best thing he could do right now, but he's having a hard time thinking straight. "This is none of your fuckin' business anymore."

Gabe narrows his eyes. He looks like he's winding up to lose his temper, and Travis thinks, _The more things change…_

Which is when Mike decides to make an appearance, floating up through the floor like steam and then coming back together. He looks wildly around and then visibly relaxes when he catches sight of Gabe.

"You made it," he says. "Greta should be able to take care of the rest of them until dawn. Are you — oh my God."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Travis says. The only other thing that could happen tonight is if his old eighth grade gym teacher showed up and made him do five hundred pushups or something.

"Bill," Mike says. He hovers over William on the couch, cupping his face in his hands. "Bill. _Bill_. What did he do to you? He can't –"

"Nothing," William rasps, turning his head away like a stubborn child. "I'm all right."

Mike drops his hands and looks right at Travis, and Travis doesn't think he's ever seen anyone look so furious. His eyes are vivid green. "Fucking _cad_. You selfish –"

"Mike," William says. "It wasn't his fault. I didn't tell him."

"Is this how you treat your lovers?" Mike says. "You use and then discard, and –"

"Now don't get all stabby on me," Travis snaps. "You can jump to conclusions all you want, but it's not gonna help."

Mike actually _bares his teeth_ and it occurs to Travis that he maybe shouldn't go around pissing off guys with more than a hundred years experience of killing people. Still, he says, "Dude, I don't even care what you do to me."

"Devourer," Mike spits. He starts to advance. "You want to –"

"Goddamnit, Mike, would you _shut the fuck up_?" Gabe says.

Mike stops in his tracks. Travis blinks.

"Just don't fuckin' start," Gabe says. "This whole thing is fucked up enough, and I really don't want to have to deal with anyone else getting killed on top of it. Just shut up, okay?"

Mike shuts his mouth. He looks over at William.

"It's fine, Mike," William says.

Mike glares at Travis but turns around. "You know where I'll be," he says to William, and disappears.

"I don't know what it is with you," Gabe says to Travis. "It's like you go right for the drama and get it in your fuckin' teeth."

"How'd you manage that?" Travis says.

Gabe stares at him. "What?"

"Looks like you really got a hold on him," Travis says.

"I don't have a hold on shit," Gabe says. "What I'm saying is –"

"Gabe, goddamnit, listen to me," Travis says. "Look what just happened. You finally found someone you can boss around."

Gabe looks like he's just discovered fire.

William manages to raise his head up. "Go speak with him," he croaks. "He'll be up in the room. He needs someone to speak with."

"Is the dead guy giving me relationship advice now?" Gabe says. "This is fuckin' nuts, Travie. I can't even –"

"This whole thing's nuts," Travis says. "Go with it."

"Oh, what the hell," Gabe says. He looks at William. "Fuckin' good fuckin' luck with him." He takes the stairs two at a time.

It looks like it's just him and William now.

William hides behind his hair, shoulders hunched over. With his head down, he doesn't look terrifying so much as pathetic, like a piece of ruined artwork. "I didn't mean for you to see me," he says. "I thought I could disappear without waking you. You're a light sleeper."

"Lucky me," Travis says. "You know, you really could have fuckin' said something about this. Really."

"I _know_ ," William says. "I lied. I'm sorry."

"Why'd you lie?"

"I just wanted to have – the memory, I suppose."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Travis says. He starts to take a step forward. William flails his arms around and tries to retreat into the couch.

"Don't," he says. "I don't want you to look at me. I don't want you to –"

"What, you think I can just unsee it? I just woke up to _Night of the Living Dead_. I'm gonna be lucky if I manage to not to lose my mind."

"I'm more than a hundred years old," William says, still hunched over. "I'm not exactly fresh as morning dew."

"Could have fooled me."

"Maybe it's better like this. Now you can go home and –"

"What, now you want me to go? William –"

"I _don't_. But you must."

"Don't fuckin' play mind games with me, William. Either you tell me what's going on in your head or I'm gonna –" He realizes that he doesn't have anything to offer as a threat, but hopefully he won't get called on that.

"I can't ask you to stay when there's nothing here for you," William says softly. "This way, you can have a chance to be happy."

"Dude," Travis says.

"I was selfish. I was lonely. I didn't think…I can't go any further than the front gate without disappearing. You can't even touch me." His hands are shaking. "If you stayed here with me, then I was asking you to waste your life."

"William, you're talking to the former king of the pill-poppers," Travis says. "I know all about wasting your life."

"But how long do you think you can stand it? Leaving everything behind to come here, with — all those things you want, I can't give them to you. I should have been alive. I should have met you when…You should find someone who can give you something real, Travis. Not like this."

" _You_ were real," Travis says. "Fucked up as it was, you were there. And I wanted you around. I want you around."

"I wasn't real enough," William says.

"So you scare the shit out of me to try to make a fuckin' noble gesture. Nice job. What happens to you then? I go home and you go back to –"

"I'll figure something out. I can live like this, such as it is."

"William, you're being a fucking idiot. I'm supposed to go off and just forget the whole thing, after you turned yourself into some kind of horror movie extra for me?"

"Goddamnit, Travis," William says. "I don't think I've ever met _anyone_ as stubborn as you are. Will you, please –"

"I don't give up easy."

"I only –" He looks at his hands. "For what it's worth, I meant what I said to you earlier. If I care about someone — I just don't want you to ever be unhappy."

"Oh, fucking _dammit_ , William," Travis says. He comes over and slumps down on the couch. "Way to kick me in the heart, you know?"

"I'm sorry," William mutters. "But you could start over, you said so. You could go home and have a full, rich life."

"You really think I could?" Travis says. "You don't think I'd regret not taking the chance? Or that I wouldn't miss your freaky little ass?"

"I don't _know_. I — Travis, I'm so sorry."

"What do we do now?" Travis says. "Are you going to stay like this?"

William shrugs.

"William."

"You won't like it," William says. "I can come back, but — Travis, what if this doesn't work? What if you hate me?"

"Just come back," Travis says. "I don't care, just come back."

"Promise me you won't hate me," William says. "Promise."

"Look," Travis says. "Let me prove myself, okay? I just want that one chance."

William puts his head in his hands. "I — close your eyes."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to see me. Close your eyes."

"You're not going to eat my brain or anything, are you?"

"I am _not in the mood_ for this, Travis," William snaps.

Travis shuts his eyes. He feels cold hands on his shoulders and stiffens, but William doesn't seem to be gnawing on any part of his body yet, so he relaxes a little.

He feels cold air against his mouth, parting his lips, and it tastes of dust.

*****

Gabe careens up the stairs, thinking, _This is nuts, this is nuts, this is nuts_. He's never been one to throw himself into anything, he's always been in control, and this feels totally out of control and it scares the shit out of him.

He gets to the door of the room where everything started and throws it open. Mike is sitting glumly in the loveseat by the open window, staring at the dawn just starting outside.

"Mike," Gabe says.

Mike starts and turns around. "Gabe?" he says, sounding small and disbelieving.

"Hi," Gabe says.

"Gabe," Mike says. His smile changes his whole face. It's wide and goofy and he looks like nothing so much as someone who's just been given a spectacular present, and Gabe thinks, _Okay. Okay, I can work with this._

"Will you stay?" Mike says. "Did you come to –"

"Yeah," Gabe says. "Yeah, why not."

Mike sits up straight and spreads his arms wide. Gabe's not really given to big gestures, but the situation seems to call for it, so he makes a running dash across the room, smiling.

It's only when he gets to Mike and feels himself run right through him, and then as he's plunging forward into empty space, that he thinks, _Oh, yeah. Open window._

*****

Travis feels like a balloon deflating. William's still hanging onto his shoulders, but otherwise Travis doesn't even think he's touching him. He still feels like he's losing all the breath in his body, like the jokes he and his friends used to tell when they were kids ( _suck a golf ball through a length of garden hose_ ), and he's starting to freak out.

Just when he thinks he's about to faint, William lets go. Travis jerks back, gasping, and opens his eyes.

William sits beside him, pale and out-of-focus and ghostly. He touches Travis' face with airy fingers, frowning. "Are you all right?"

"William," Travis wheezes, "what did you just do?"

"I borrowed a little life force," William says. "You'll be fine in a minute. Don't stand up too quickly."

"Shit," Travis says. "But…you're back?"

"Don't talk," William says, but he's still stroking Travis' face.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," Travis says.

And then he hears Gabe screaming.

"What's –" William says, scrambling up.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Travis says, and runs outside.

The gravel bites into his bare feet and he immediately gets goosebumps from the wind. William's somewhere by his side, asking, "What is it? What happened?" He can't answer; he's thinking _Oh please oh please oh please_ , but there's a dark crumpled lump lying on the ground by the side of the building and it looks like Gabe but it's too still and he feels sick.

He's thinking of a time seven years ago, walking into a club and seeing a tall guy with a crazy laugh holding court, a guy who'd stuck by Travis even when it was making him miserable, and how Travis had thought he'd be hearing that laugh forever.

"No," he says, dropping to his knees by the lump ( _body_ somewhere in the back of his head but he's just going to push it away), "Gabe, Gabe, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this."

He doesn't want to touch it, doesn't want to know the truth. His throat hurts and his face is wet and he says, "Not this. Please, not this."

He feels cool breeze on his back: William pressed against him and trying his best to calm him down, whispering soothing syllables against his hair. Travis says, " _Gabe_."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Gabe says from somewhere in the ether, and then he's rising groggily up from the lump on the ground. He's pale and out-of-focus and hazy, and he looks like he's just woken up. "What is it now?"

"Gabe?" Travis says. "You — I'm —"

"I didn't get a scratch on me," Gabe says wonderingly. "Holy shit, I screamed like a pussy for nothing. Oh, hey," he says over Travis' shoulder. "You look a little healthier than when I last saw you. How'd you manage that?"

"Um," William says, still against Travis' back.

"Travie?" Gabe says. "Are you _crying_? What's the matter?"

Travis can't talk. William says, "You may want to look down now."

Gabe looks at the ground. "What? What am I looking for — Oh." He pokes at the lump and watches his hand pass through. "Was this — Travis, am I dead?"

"Yeah," Travis says. "Yeah."

Gabe begins to laugh hysterically.

"Uh," Travis says. Somehow this wasn't the reaction he expected.

Gabe grabs his face with two hands and kisses his forehead. "I'm never fuckin' going back to that fuckin' hellhole again. I'm never gonna have to look my fuckin' asshole boss in the face again. I'm not — Oh my _God_ , Travie."

"You're not upset?" Travis says. "You're okay with this?"

"Oh, I'm fuckin' _perfect_ ," Gabe says. "I can't believe I haven't — _Wow_."

William laughs. Gabe looks at him.

"You planning on sticking around, String Bean?"

"String Bean?" William says, sounding offended. "I doubt very much that –"

"Something's trying to pull me back into it," Gabe says. "Like some fuckin' magnet or something — somebody's got to take advantage of this. You need to tell me, are you planning on sticking around?"

William says, "Are you really offering –"

"Take it," Gabe says, standing up with a full-body shudder. He jerks his thumb back towards the lump. "You don't have a lot of fuckin' time."

Travis says, "William, what the fuck's he talking about?"

"It's not like I'm using it anymore. Just go for it, bro. What have you got to lose?"

"Does someone want to fuckin' clue me in here?" Travis says.

William starts to tremble against his back, little puffs of cold air, and the goosebumps get worse than ever. "I can't –"

"Just be good to him, okay?" Gabe says to William. "Better than I was. Come _on_ , it's fuckin' fading out."

"Gabe," Travis says, but William's shooting out from behind his back and disappearing into the lump.

"What are you doing, Gabe?" Travis says.

Gabe smiles. "I think you might deserve another chance, too, Trav." He touches Travis' face and then he's floating up towards the castle windows.

The lump moves.

"What?" Travis says. He grabs the lump and pulls it towards him.

William stares up at him, blinking like a newborn in the early morning light. His throat works and he takes a huge gasping breath.

"What the fuck," Travis says. He touches William's face, and he doesn't feel any coolness on his fingertips, just warm soft skin. "William? Are you here?"

"I – I think so," William says. He struggles into a sitting position, legs flailing like he's just learning how to use them. "I didn't know if it would work –"

"You're here," Travis says. "You're alive."

And then William is wrapped around him, kissing the tears off his face and hanging on like he doesn't want to let go. Travis grabs onto his waist and stares up at the castle. Gabe pauses his ascent and gives him a questioning look.

"Gabe Saporta," Travis says. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Somewhere above him, he hears Gabe's crazy laugh.

*****

Pete has his back against Patrick's. Ashlee is hunched over next to him, waving her stick threateningly. The Ways are all bunched together around Joe. Andy is still up a tree.

There are about four or five things closing in on them, growling and hissing. The leaves crunch under them as they approach.

"Everyone start swinging when I say so," Pete says.

"I'm fuckin' swingin' whenever, dude," Joe says.

"Okay, everyone start swinging whenever they fuckin' feel like it then."

"Hey, is that daylight?" Alicia says, tilting her head back.

As soon as it's out of her mouth, the things start to howl, writhing in the pale sun. They skitter away over the leaves, back down the hill. There's a splash in the distance from however many of them returning to the lake.

"So what's this mean?" Mikey says.

Greta, looking bedraggled, comes floating up over the hill. "It means it's over," she says. "I think everyone should head back to the castle now. Hope you enjoyed your stay." And she's gone.

*****

"I forgot about the window," Mike says into Gabe's chest. He's been wrapped around Gabe since he popped back into the room, and he seems perfectly content with staying that way. "Sorry."

"Hey, if you wanted me to stick around, you could have just asked," Gabe says. He runs a hand through Mike's hair. "So this is being dead, huh?"

"I think so."

"So," Gabe says. He unwraps himself from Mike's arms and falls backwards onto the bed. "So if we're both dead, does that mean you can have your wicked way with me? Because I'm gonna be _pissed_ if it doesn't."

"I believe it does."

"Well, get cracking, then," Gabe says. "I don't have all day. All eternity, maybe."

*****

The phones are working again when everyone gets back to the hotel. Travis greets them at the door, along with a guy who looks exactly like Pete's cousin a million times removed and who seems to have appropriated Gabe's wardrobe. They both look a little shell-shocked.

The explanations couldn't be any more awkward. At the end of it, Travis turns to Pete and says, "Yo, you need a handyman for a little while? I don't eat much."

"We'll work something out," Pete says, because what the fuck, family is family.

*****

The Ways take a cab to O'Hare the afternoon of November 1. Gerard turns to Pete as he's putting the luggage in the back and says, "So, this has been pretty much the worst trip of my life."

"Except for that time in Trenton," Mikey says.

"Oh, yeah, the Trenton thing. Anyway."

"Yeah," Pete says. He's feeling kind of sad, to tell the truth. The Ways are weird little fuckers and he's going to miss them.

"It'd be kind of a shame to have anyone else miss out on this, though, don't you think?" Gerard says. "I'm going to put a call into a colleague back home. Tell her and her team to book a flight immediately. She sees all the activity here, and hears about all the work you need to do, then in two weeks you'll have funds coming in from every believer in the country."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Pete says.

Gerard smiles. "Saving the hotel, of course. Least I can do."

"Shit," Pete says. "Gerard, I –"

Gerard just pulls him into a bear hug. "You were the best scam artist I ever met."

"Mmph," Pete says.

"Gerard, let go of Pete," Lindsey says. "Gerard, let go. He's having trouble breathing."

"Oh." Gerard lets go. Pete wheezes. "Sorry, Pete."

"Yeah," Pete says. He's totally not crying, it's just dusty out here. "Yeah, okay. Come back soon."

"Wouldn't miss it," Alicia says. She hops into the cab with Mikey, who waves at Pete through the window. Lindsey kisses Pete's cheek and gets in. Gerard salutes and joins them. The cab zooms off.

Both Joe and Andy are looking kind of sniffly themselves. Ashlee wraps her arms around Pete's waist and kisses his cheek, just as Patrick leans in and gets the other cheek. Patrick smiles and squeezes Ashlee's shoulder. She grins.

"Got some work to do," Pete says, wrapping his arms around them both. "Everybody quit lollygagging."

*****

"So where do we go from here?" William asks, when they're standing together in the grand ballroom. Gabe's clothes hang kind of awkwardly on him, too big in the shoulders, and Travis makes a mental note to find him clothes that fit soon.

"Haven't decided yet," Travis says. "You still want to stick around here for a while? Or are you bored with it now?"

"I've never been bored with the castle," William says. "But –"

Travis grabs him around the waist. "You'll write. I'll paint. Once in a while I'll fix a sink when it breaks. How about we plan on that for a while?"

"Do you _know_ how to fix a sink?" William says.

"No. But I'll learn."

William sighs tolerantly, fussing with Travis' collar. "I fell in love with a dreamer. Just my luck."

"Yeah, you're screwed," Travis says. "Too bad."

"Yo, what the fuck kind of music are you playing in here, anyway?" Gabe says, barging through the closed doors, with Mike following him. "Would it kill you to play a little Pretty Poison?"

"Hey, party crashers," Travis says. "It occur to you we might like some privacy?"

"You've got the rest of your life for that," Gabe says, and holds his hands out. It's like getting caught in a gravitational pull, and Travis finds himself swinging into Gabe's arms and then two-stepping across the floor. "Mike, your ex needs a partner."

Mike shrugs and gives William an appraising look. "Bill, you look like you've put a little flesh on your bones."

"Not getting stabbed really boosts the appetite," William says.

"Does it really?" Mike says, swinging him in the other direction.

"So how's the corpse treating you?" Gabe says. "Everything okay?"

"Couldn't be better," Travis says. "We've still got to figure out what we're going to do about the house, Gabe…"

"Put that fucker up for sale," Gabe says. "You two crazy kids get yourselves a nest egg."

"Gabe –"

"Hey," Gabe says. "You gotta enjoy your life, right?"

In the other corner of the ballroom, Mike is saying something to William, shooting cautious glances in Travis' general direction, and William is smiling and shaking his head. Travis says, "I actually am really sorry, Gabe. I know –"

"Pfft," Gabe says. "I got plans for this place, Trav. The Ways are sending another fuckin' ghost expert out here, and I think I can scare the shit out of her. I'm going to be fuckin' here forever, if I can help it. Mike, am I right?"

Mike appears to be concentrating on not tripping over his feet. "Very much so."

"You're okay?" Travis says.

Gabe presses a ghostly kiss against his cheek. "You know it. Mike, get your ass back to me, I've got moves to show you. C'mere."

Mike smiles. He twirls William back towards Travis and opens his arms to Gabe. They spin together towards the ceiling.

"Been a while since I saw him dance like that," Travis says.

William smiles. "Strange what happiness can do, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Travis says, and kisses him. "Yeah, I guess you're right."


End file.
